The Boy on Fire
by GirlwiththeBread325
Summary: It's time to fight.
1. Chapter 1

_One_

I duck under the fence, knowing very well that there's no electricity pumping through it like there should be. Of course, the mayor turned it off years ago, right before I was born, because he thought it was just ridiculous that we should be confined to District 12, although most people seem to prefer it that way. They like being trapped; it provides a false sense of comfort. I, on the other hand, have always need space. Wide, open, space, amongst the birds and the willow trees.

Retrieving my bow and arrow from a hallow log, I make my way to the little clearing at what I like to think is the center of the forest. Early morning light glistens, illuminating the dew on the grass and blanketing everything with yellow. The smell of honeysuckle floats in the air, emitting a sweet smell. A light breeze plays with my hair, and I run my fingers through it, making it only more untidy and unruly.

I hear a rustle from behind a tree, but I don't turn around. I have been hearing that sound since I was eight, and it doesn't make me jump around like it used to. I feel her before I see her, a light and airy but oddly heavy aura.

She steps out from behind the trees, and I briefly think of how, when we first met, she would try to scare me by jumping out from behind that exact tree every morning, and every morning I would just shake my head at her. Sometimes, when she's in a good mood, she'll jump out from behind and grab my shoulders, but I never do anything more than blink.

"Why are you _never_ scared?" she would ask, hands on her hips.

"You're nothing to be scared of," I would always reply, smiling slightly.

Frowning, she would say, "Well there's got to be something you're scared of!" And I would always say No, not really.

All of that passes through my mind the second she steps out, honey-colored hair swishing behind her. "'Morning, Fin," she says in greeting, calling me by my nick name. I am named after some bloke mother was friends with, who died in the war.

"Hey," I reply, her eyes flash up at me for a moment, blazing me in green, and then fall back to the log as she picks up her bow and arrow. I always catch myself wondering what goes on behind those eyes.

"I don't think many animals are gunna be out today," she remarks, looking around. "It's too cold." She's right, autumn has quietly settled around 12, making people bring out their jackets and boots earlier than expected.

"It's worth a shot though," I remark, and walk off into the deep roots of the forest, not making a sound.

Not much later, I hear an arrow whiz behind me. Turning around, I see she's brought down an animal, cleanly, right in between the eyes. The rabbit sways and falls, and she walks over, the sleeve to her top falling over her shoulder a little. A burning blaze that always fills her eyes is there when she turns around, a quiet smile on her light pink lips.

"Not any animals, huh?" I tease. She smacks me on the shoulder playfully. I look down at her, smiling.

"Well, okay, that was the exception," she says, not hiding her sly smile.

"'Kay," I say. "Whatever you say, Tilda." I've been calling her Tilda instead of Matilda for as long as I can remember, and I remember the first time I called her that she punched me in the mouth and practically broke my jaw. She was nine. Now she's sixteen, I'm seventeen.

We walk around the woods, catching the game that fell prey to our traps. Well, they're Tilda's traps, I never do anything more than watch her construct them with delicate fingers. She has a thing for snares, and can design the most innovated, expert tools to capture animals as easily as I can shoot an arrow.

Around noon, I finally grab the game bag and follow her back home, her hair swishing behind her as she walks. Walking in the Town Square, a teenage girl my age with straight, bobbed, brown hair and big brown eyes catches my eye and smiles at me, walking over.

"Oh boy," Tilda says, loud enough so I can hear. "Another girl for the Finnick Mellark Fan Club!" But I don't really hear her, I'm staring at the girl.

"Hi," she says, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. "You're Katniss Everdeen's son, right?" she asks, tilting her head and smiling. "I'm Shirley."

"Ugh…y-yes," I say. Tilda rolls her eyes next to me and mutters, "Moron."

"I heard you were the best archer in the District," she says sweetly, twirling a lock of her hair.

"Is that what you've heard now, is it?" I ask, retrieving some of my old charm. "Well, Shirley, what can I do for you then?" Tilda walks off, with a swish of her hips in my direction. I suddenly feel very confused.

"I was wondering if you would be willing to, you know, teach me how to hunt," she says in a low voice. But I can't take my eyes off of Tilda, who is talking to a boy and nodding in agreement with something he's saying.

"What? Ugh, sorry. I don't think that will work. Maybe next week," I say hastily, not really listening to what I'm saying. I walk to Tilda, grab her arm, and make her walk next to me.

"What the _hell _is your problem?" she insists, breaking away from my grasp and glaring at me with fiery intensity.

I feel oddly stupid. "Uh. Nothing. Come on, let's go home," I say. She follows me, and I can feel the electricity fly off her body and hit me right in the heart. She has that effect on people. But she's following me. Always following me, or I end up following her, and that shows that she isn't mad enough at me to turn and leave, which I've told she can do whenever she pleases.

We arrive at my home in Victor's Village, where nine large houses line up in a circle. Only one of them is lit warmly, just like I can always remember. I think mother and father's mentor use to live in the house in the middle, but he died a few years prier, too long ago for me to remember. Father used to live two doors down from mother, and when they got married, they moved into mother's house.

Tilda is still fuming with me when we walk in the house, not saying a word. "I think I'd rather have you yell at me then not say anything at all," I say quietly as we enter the house. I can hear mother humming softly from the kitchen, and the sizzle of food. A mirror in the hall shows our reflection, and I don't think I've ever seen two people that looked so different.

I'm tall and lean, where Tilda is petite. I have dirty blond hair and olive skin, with my mother's grey eyes. Tilda has blonde hair, so blonde that it sometimes looks white, that falls to her waist in light, airy curls.

Tilda looks at me. "Really? Do you really want to hear what I have to say right now?" she asks, glaring over her long eyelashes.

I hesitate for a moment, and then say, "Yes."

"I think you're a self-centered ego maniac who gets jealous at the slightest instigation! You can ask out and flirt with any girl you want but as soon as I so much as-" she can't finish, because the next second I find my hands around her waist, her lips on mine.

Her body stiffens, much like an animals does right before it falls over, dead. What feels like an eternity later, I feel her hand against my chest, pushing me against the wall, my rough lips shaping around her soft, pink ones, her taste of cherries overwhelming me. Tilda has had so many admirers I lost count, but each one she politely turns away and then looks at me.

I don't think I'll ever know why I kissed her that night. I think I just wanted to shut her up. Maybe I wanted to know what it would feel like, to kiss her, or maybe I just really liked her, loved her even.

We've never kissed before, after so many years. I've kissed her on the cheek many times instead of saying good bye, but she never showed any indication that she liked me as more than a hunting partner. I think people believe that eventually, I'd get down on one knee and pop the question, and five minutes later she'd be pregnant, but whenever we pass by the jewelry store I just look down at my shoes.

She breaks away first, very gently, and I find myself leaning in for more. Placing a firm hand on my chest, she looks up at me with stern eyes. I've always thought of her as a pretty little kitten who believes that she is a lion.

"You're definitely a psycho," she whispers, a little breathless. I laugh, and I think mother hears us, because footsteps emerge from the kitchen. I imagine what we must look like, me pressed against the wall, her ankle around mine, my hands on her waist, hers on my chest. We jump apart, both burning red.

An amused expression crosses mother's face. She stopped braiding her long, straight brown hair years ago, now she just lets it fall to her waist in soft waves that sometimes come up in the breeze and caress her face. I grew taller than her a couple years ago, but the way she looks at you can make anybody feel tiny.

"I thought I heard you two out here," she says, twirling the wooden spoon in her fingers. "Matilda, are you staying for dinner?"

Still blushing madly, Tilda picks up the game bag that she dropped on the floor. "Uh…no, Katniss, thank you." She gave up on calling my mother Mrs. Mellark years ago, when my mother wouldn't respond. She never got used to the name.

"Tilda!" father exclaims, walking in from the study and smiling. "Haven't seen you in a whole two days!" he teases. He noticed her nickname a while ago. Father has always been the nice one, the one to go out of his way to make somebody smile even if he's dying inside. His blue eyes shine. "How are you?"

Looking suffocated by my parent's presence, Tilda scrambles to the back door. "I…uh…I really ought to go home. Mother will want to be getting started on dinner," she says, and practically throws herself out the door. She's never liked people, never really gotten along with them. Whenever I asked her why she chose me to be friends with out of all the other people in the village, she just smiles and changes the subject.

Mother looks at me, a question in her grey eyes. "I'll walk her home."

The awkwardness fills the air between us the entire walk home. "Look, I…I wasn't thinking," I say at last.

She almost smiles and shakes her head. "I just...I don't know how I feel about you, Finn. You've always just been a friend. A great hunter with a kinda weird family."

"Ouch," I say. Friend-zoned. But was I expecting her to kiss me back, to throw herself at me whenever I'm around? Do I really want her to do that? If I were being honest with myself, the answer would be yes. I'd love to be able to walk with my arm around her waist, her head resting on my chest, fingers interlocked with mine. But Tilda isn't like that, and that's what draws me to her even more, like a poison. You aren't allowed to drink it, but if you keep staring at the bottle, you want to see what it tastes like.

"I've seen the way girls look at you. They like the fact that you're Katniss Everdeen's son, and your looks don't help them to stop staring either," she says, ignoring my protest. "I love you, Finnick." I can't stop my heart from giving a lurch and a hopeful somersault. "But not that way." She kisses me on the cheek. "Good hunting partners are hard to come by."

"You're just full of surprises today, aren't you?" I manage to ask in a steady voice. "Keep the rabbit, it's yours," I say. She smiles and turns to leave. I watch her until she turns the corner, blonde hair draped over her shoulder.

"I love you too," I mutter under my breath, and walk home.


	2. Chapter 2

_Tilda._

"I'm going insane," I whisper, shutting the door behind me, leaning against it, and closing my eyes. So many feelings rage inside of me I try to fight back, but eventually just let them overtake me.

He's beautiful. He truly is. Blonde hair, grey eyes the color of a stormy sky, and his hands. Those hands that can shoot the most delicate arrow through a forest and hit the target even in complete darkness. How can those strong, big hands that I've held for so many years entrap me so easily? And how can those lips that I've been studying fit so perfectly over mine?

"Tilly?" a tiny voice asks. "Are you okay?" I open my eyes and find Hazelle, my little sister, looking up at me.

I smile. There are only two people in the world that I don't have to force a smile around, Finnick and Hazelle. Those smiles come naturally. "I'm fine, little bird," I say, messing up her hair. She giggles. "Just tired. Go set the table, I'll start dinner."

I often catch myself wondering what my life would be like if my mother were alive. Would she have a job? If she did, I probably wouldn't have to hunt, and no hunting meant I would've never met Finnick. Would Gale be happy? Would he ever smile?

As if on cue, Gale walks in. I've never called him father; he's not like a father to me. More like a family friend, someone who stuck around for most of my childhood and bought me birthday cards. I bear no resemblance to him, which helps me not feel connected to him.

"Hi," I say, stirring the stew that I'm making. He nods, sitting down on a chair and sighing. I don't question him, this is his ritual, come home from work, sit down, sigh, and then ask me if I have the morning paper. I place it on the table before he asks, but he doesn't pick it up. Even though I find this odd, I don't say anything. You don't question strangers.

Gale looks at me, really watching me for the first time. I look back out of the corner of my eyes, pretending I don't see him, wondering what he could be thinking of. Hazelle walks in, tearing away his glance. He scoops her up, placing her on his lap, kissing her on the cheek and asking how her day was. This makes me set the spoon down and turn, fully looking him in the face now. He scratches his chin, where fuzz is starting to grow in, and smiles at his youngest girl.

"Matilda," he begins, "do you want to go hunting on Sunday?"

I blink. "Hunting?" I ask, acting as though I'm not interested. A day with Gale, doing the thing I love to do the most. Usually he spends his Sundays, the only day he gets off, somewhere in the town, alone. Or maybe he has a girlfriend he visits, I've never asked. "You haven't taken me since I was eight." Which is true.

"And that should change," he says simply. When I don't respond, he sets Hazelle down and walks upstairs, the stairs creaking a little as he goes. By the time I have the bowls of rabbit stew set on the table, he's sitting back down in his chair and eating silently.

Hazelle is the talker of our little threesome. Usually, throughout dinner, she tells us all about school and her friends and what she's been up to all day and how hard her homework is, and Gale and I just nod and smile. But today, she just sits and watches us, eating quietly, only asking for more bread and then falling silent again.

"You okay, little bird?" I ask her. She swallows and then nod, suddenly very interested in the table-cloth.

As I'm scrubbing the dishes clean after dinner, Gale walks in. This is unusual, considering he just goes straight to bed after eating. "What?" I ask him, a little more sharply than I intended. All these sudden games and signs of affection are making my head whirl, and the fact that my thoughts are still with Finnick doesn't help much either.

Gale opens and closes his mouth a few times before just saying, "Nothing." And walking out of the room. I walk upstairs to my room and hear a muffled sobbing from Hazelle's room. Bursting inside, I see that she's sitting on her bed, head in between her knees, crying.

I put my arm around her and stroke her hair before I ask, "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared," she whispers, her grey eyes twice their normal size. She's the spitting image of Gale, dark, beautiful hair that falls to her back and big grey eyes.

"Scared of what?" I demand, trying to be gentle.

"I don't know!" she exclaims, looking plainly terrified. "I just feel like something bad is going to happen, Tilly. I _know_ something bad, something really bad, is going to happen soon, but I don't know what it is!"

I know better than to dismiss her fears, she's often gone through these episodes before. And every time, something horrible does happen. One time, Gale broke his arm in the mines and the next year, I fell from the peak of a tree, right on my back. There's nothing we can do to stop the episodes, but the day after they occur, Hazelle springs right back to normal.

"Do you want me to sleep here tonight?" I ask her. She nods. "Okay," I say, tucking a lock of curly hair behind her ear. "Go brush your teeth and I'll be right back."

My room is at the end of the creaky hallway, the most awkward out of the three bedrooms. There's one window that looks out into the forest, and that's why I chose this room. The ceiling slants down gradually, until at the right end of the room is so short, Hazelle cannot fit under it. I change into nightclothes and walk back to her room, when I hear shuffling from Gale's room. I don't look in as I walk past.

My sister is already cuddled under the blankets, hugging her teddy bear close to her and staring out the window. I slide in next to her and lock my arms around her, and she nestles into me, her breathing becoming calm and deep very quickly. It takes me longer to fall asleep, because my mind is going in so many different directions. Nobody is on the streets, it's much too late for that in 12, and I don't see anything move outside the window except for some leaves that fall to the ground and a couple of cats that pounce on top of mice that I cannot see.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I begin to dream. For some reason, my dreams have always been very vivid, terrifyingly real.

I'm standing on a cliff, looking out at the endless abyss beneath me. I hear footsteps running up behind me, not the comforting, practically silent ones of Finnick, but loud and sloppy, like the animal in question is disoriented. I try to turn around, because the noise is getting louder and it sounds like it'd like to have a go at my head, but I can't move. My body is firmly locked in place, as if someone is pinching all my muscles.

I catch a glimpse of blonde hair before hands, human hands, bloody and marked, push me off the cliff, and my stomach gives a lurch and a scream leaves my lips before the scene changes and I'm sitting at the Mellark's home, in Finnick's bedroom. There's a beautiful woman there, so beautiful it hurts to look at her. I realize that she is a perfected version of me, her hair longer and fuller, her body a perfect hourglass shape, her eyes so green they glow, not one blemish or scar on her smooth skin, and her cheekbones high and flawless. She's leeched to Finnick, kissing him more passionately than I could ever think of doing, and he's kissing her back in return, his hands exploring her body.

I scream myself awake, my lungs aching for air from all the yelling. No one comes to check on me, they are too used to my screams and pleas for help in my slumber. Slowly, I lay back down on the tiny bed and close my eyes, knowing sleep is not going to come get me any time soon. Groggily, I move my hand to find the warmth, the reassuring warmth, of Hazelle's body, and feel nothing. I jump out of the bed, not really sure why this is bothering me, and hear a light, tiny snore from Gale's room. I barge inside, only to find her nestled in his arms, his big hands stroking her hair.

_Daddy, why are you so sad? The little, green-eyed girl asks. _

_ I'm not sad, the man replies._

_ Why don't I have mommy like the other kids, daddy? She demands, frowning._

_ This question strikes home, and the man winces, his eyebrows furrowing,closing his eyes as if this question has caused him physical pain. _

_ Because your mommy is dead, Matilda. Okay? She's dead. She died when she gave birth to your sister. She's dead and she's never coming back, so stop asking, dammit! Go and do what normal children do, go play with other kids!_

That was the last time I ever called Gale 'daddy.' That was the last time I could ever look at him and smile, the last time I could ever hug him or love him. That was the moment where he became a stranger, and I became an unwanted visitor in his house.

And I always hated him for it.

I walk out of the room, trying to recall the last time I ever crawled into his bed, seeking warmth and love. If I ever did, I don't remember it. After that conversation, when I was only four, I never really liked people. I realized how cruel they could be and how words could hurt so much more than being physically beaten. At least those scars go away.

I think Gale tried to make it up to me. I became a loner for about a year, only coming out of my bedroom to eat and bathe, and he never spoke to me. Eventually, I started branching out of the comfort of my room, wandering aimlessly around the block while he was at work and saying a word or two to Hazelle. And then the woods, the place I had always admired from afar, was open to me, and I walked inside there, taking mental pictures of the terrain, where different animals were most likely to be, and the plants. Gale took me in there once and showed me what hunting looked like, to see if I would be reluctant to shoot down an animal, but I never said a word to him the whole day. When I got the guts, and when I perfected my shot, I stopped shooting at trees and began to aim for animals. I mastered the way the forest moved, every little thing about it, in less than a year, and then I met Finnick. I watched him from a distance, not having the confidence to talk to this cute stranger. After all, I had not had human contact in years. It wasn't until I saw him bring down a small deer from some distance away that I walked out from the trees and talked to him.

Very, very slowly, we started 'finding' each other in the woods more and more, and he began sharing his knowledge of the berries and the sounds to make to deceive animals into a false sense of security, and I told him about the best place to find the animals in the first place. I don't know when, but we became a team, and we began to rely on each other, and eventually that morphed into something like friendship. We would tease each other, and he told me who his parents were, but I never told him about my family, and what a mess it had become. That part of me, the little four year old girl who was yelled at by her father for wanting a mother, was still hiding, still dying inside of me. And just when I thought I had finally killed her off, when I could start forgiving Gale, she reminded me that she was there with a sharp kick in the gut.


	3. Chapter 3

Basically just gives the backstory to the whole novel, and introduces the relationships between Finnick and his family.

_Finnick_

I've never been close with my parents, there is only one person in my family that I gravitate towards, and that is my sister, Primrose. My parents have shut themselves away from me, screaming in their sleep and flinching every time they hear a loud noise. I've heard people whisper behind my backs, saying my father tried to kill my mother once and that my mother is a suicidal lunatic.

And the horrible part is that the accusations are mostly true.

My father did try to kill my mother once, many years ago, when the war was still going on, or right before it started. He was crazy, insane, practically mutated from the trackerjackers the Capitol inserted into him. My mother ran inside to see him and he had his hands around her throat.

And as far as I know, mother could have considered killing herself. After her little sister, Prim, died, she had nothing to live for. I could see her sitting on a mattress, staring at the ceiling and trying to find the best place for a noose. Oftentimes, I will find her sitting in a closet, head between her knees, whispering to herself and crying, or just crouched on the couch, looking up at ceiling and not moving.

I know it isn't their fault they're this way. They have been pushed to death and back, barely surviving each time. They've been tortured, taunted, threatened, living by gun point until eighteen years ago. Twice in the arena, leading a war, and falling in love. Yet still, I find a deep resentment towards them. Couldn't they try to talk to us, couldn't they find a way to put everything behind them and live this new life they've created together? Why is it so difficult?

It comes as no surprise to me that no one responds when I open the door. Mother has found herself on the floor in front of the fireplace, staring at the ashes, a blank look in her eyes. The smell of bread greets me, though, and I walk into the kitchen. Father smiles at me, blue eyes slightly unfocused, ashy blonde hair falling over his eye. I can tell he doesn't want to talk, so I walk upstairs.

Prim is always very easy to find, it's like her strong scent of flowers can give her away at any moment.

I sit next to her on the roof, not saying a word. She always starts the conversation, and if she doesn't say anything we just sit in silence for a while and then go our separate ways. The sun is setting, and the crickets are beginning their lullabies. It's incredible how much she looks like mother. A younger, brighter, healthier version of my mother, with long auburn hair and high cheek bones. Boys adore her, I've seen the way they smile and whistle when she walks by. Prim, on the other hand, doesn't seem to notice.

"I don't get it," I finally say, breaking the silence I can no longer stand.

She raises an eyebrow and looks at me. "Get what?"

"What was so devastating about the Hunger Games that scarred mom and dad so badly?" I ask. Barely anybody says it's full name, they just call it the Games. As if that will make them go away, as if that will simply delete them from history, like a button on a machine. But one look at my parents tells me that they never, ever going away, not as long as they're alive.

Prim doesn't speak for a while, and for a moment I think she's not going to respond, when she says, "Imagine. Close your eyes." I do as she tells me because I know she won't continue unless I obey. "Picture that the girl who you've loved for your whole life is placed in front of you." I automatically think of Tilda, right at sixteen, as old as my mother was when she volunteered. "Picture that her little sister, the person who she has been keeping alive for the last five years, is sentenced to certain death, and her big sister volunteers to take her place, to make sure her sister stays alive, even if she cannot." I can see Tilda's little sister, Hazelle, being chosen for the Hunger Games, and her running to the stage, crying and volunteering to take her place. No, not crying, she never cries.

"Now she's being thrown into an arena. The last place she might ever see, and she already has a burning hatred towards the Capitol for doing this to her, to everyone, a blazing need to do something about it. She's forced to kill innocent children. And along the way, she finds herself falling in love with you. You do everything to keep her alive, everything in your power to know that she will go home with a beating heart. When you two are the only remaining tributes in the arena, she brings up the prospect of suicide. That way, one will never have to live without the other. Just as you are ready to do it, to end it all, the Capitol lets you two go home alive." I can very vividly see Tilda looking up at me with big eyes, swimming with tears, scared, offering to end it all, to jump into nothingness, and I shiver.

"Then you find out that she never really loved you. She only pretended to love you to survive, and you hate her for it." I feel my heart torn out of my chest, giving it to her, and trusting her not to hurt it. Instead, she takes a knife and stabs me. Did father feel this way? "Then you two are forced to pretend to love again, to jump back into the arena and fight to the death. You are forced to propose to her, to proclaim your undying love for her to the whole nation, and she has to fake pregnancy." I can see father getting down on one knee, all of Panem loving this new couple, and mother with a hand on her stomach. "But now, there is a war. Your love is somewhere far away, and you are being tortured, tortured to the point where you don't know what's real and what's not. You don't know how to tell reality from poison, and you end up with a desire to kill your love. Slowly, you come back to reality, but it's not easy, and you never quite get over it. Meanwhile, she is scared out of her mind, so scared she shuts off her emotions, feels nothing. An empty void of nothingness. Noises are magnified by ten, and pain is just cut off. One person, and one person only, can make her feel again, and that's you."

Everything she says I can see clearly, so very clearly in fact that it scares me. Tilda lying in bed, staring at a blank wall with no life in her eyes, dead to the world. Me, screaming and crying and shaking, not even human.

"Prim! Finnick! Supper!" mother's voice calls. I open my eyes to find Prim isn't even there anymore, and I wonder briefly how long I've been sitting up here with my eyes closed. The sun has nestled behind the clouds, the stars quietly twinkling up above. I give them one last parting look and walk downstairs, feeling as though a heavy weight has been thrown in my head.

Rolls of bread, salad, and plates full of game I've caught myself fill the table. Sometimes, I'll catch mother looking at the food with a weird look in her eyes, as if she's never seen it before. I've never questioned her on it. I know she grew up poor, with barely enough to survive.

We eat silently, as we do most nights, enjoying the food. Father's rolls are still warm, and the sesames crunch in between my teeth. I can't look my parents in the eye, not after what Prim told me.

Eventually, I can't stand it any longer. I've never been very good at keeping things to myself. "Mom, dad, can I ask you something?"

They both look startled, but Primrose looks like she knows what's coming. I've never asked for anything in my life, as long as I can remember. Father recovers first. "Sure, son. What is it?"

I take a deep breath before asking, "Tell me about the Hunger Games."

Mother blinks, father bores his blue eyes into mine. "Why the sudden interest? He asks with a flinty voice.

"I've just been thinking…"

To my surprise, mother walks over to me and cups my chin in her warm hand. "I have to go into town tomorrow to buy some groceries. Come with me," she says in a very gentle voice. She manages to surprise me again by kissing me on the forehead and walking out of the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

_Finnick_

"Please…stop," Tilda whispers the next morning, big eyes desperate.

"Doing what?" I ask, flipping my blond hair over my eye.

"Looking at me like, like _that_. Like I'm the best person in the world and you'd do anything to have me," she says.

"Maybe you are," I say, a tiny spark of hope firing inside me. But she rolls her eyes and moves forward.

"Just stop it."

I bite my lip and force my eyes downward, but then I find myself looking at the way she walks like she's an animal, the way she has one piece of hair that keeps flipping out, and the way her shirt is hugging her like a second skin. I shake my head as if this will help get the thoughts out of my head.

"You know what?" she asks, exasperated, as if she can get inside my head. "Let's just call it a day. I have plenty left over, and you…well, you have money to spare."

I feel a ping of guilt. Sure, my mother and father have enough money to give Tilda's family and still have more than enough left over, but she won't except one cent of it. I usually end up giving her most of the game because I just don't need it.

We head back to her house, a tiny but tall house on the outskirts of the town square. We've been in the woods for almost five hours and we have nothing to show for it due to lack of my carelessness. My eyes have found other places to look instead of the woods, my mind other places to wonder than of the animals I should be catching, and Tilda knows this.

"Finnick! Matilda!" her father, Gale, says, smiling. He's my mother best friend, her only real friend that I know of, and he can hunt just as well as her. They grew up together, both providing for their families when their fathers were blown to bits in a mine accident. He looks like my mom too, with dark hair, olive skin, and the grey Seam eyes. He and Tilda look nothing alike, except she has her father's personality all the way.

Her father pours us lemonade, a real treat in District 12, and we sip on in, the same comfortable silence that we maintain in the woods between us.

"You two catch anything?" Gale asks, peering over a newspaper. Tilda shakes her head, and I think I see a certain understanding and knowing as her father looks at me.

Suddenly, I stand up very suddenly. "I told my mother I'd go to the market with her today. I'll see you later!" Tilda walks me to the door, just as she always has.

"The market?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'll tell you later, 'kay? Swing by tonight," I say.

Her lips pull up in a smile and she kisses me on the cheek. "Bye." I leave, head spinning, heart thumping loudly, with a sudden urge to sing.

I arrive home, unable to shake the smile off my face. "Mom, are we going?" I ask her. She looks up from the book she's reading, and for a moment I thought she might've forgotten. "Certainty," she says, and smiles at me. I go to walk upstairs and change but a knock at the door stops me. Mother gets up and goes to answer it.

"AH!" mother screams in delight, and I look over my shoulder, curious. I haven't seen mother this happy since Gale moved back here. She started crying and wouldn't let go of him for half an hour. Father runs down the stairs, limping a little from his fake left leg.

A woman is standing in the doorway. She must've been very beautiful once, with fair skin and dancing eyes, with long, curly, black hair. But sadness and age has made her face look weary, her eyes sad. A young baby boy is on her hip, with her same black hair.

"Annie!" mother screams, and hugs the girl. "Who's this?" mother asks, leaning over and looking at the baby with a smile on her face.

"That's Dominic," Annie says, handing the baby over to my mother. I've never seen mom with a baby, I was her last. It's amazing how different she looks with one. She's smiling and making silly faces at the child, ruffling his hair and making him laugh. She hands the baby to father, who absolutely adores it.

"Where'd he come from?" mother asks Annie. Annie's eyes fill with tears.

"Oh, Katniss. I made such a stupid mistake. I thought I was in love again, I really did. But then he left me for some secretary of his! I was foolish to think I could ever-" but mother is hugging her. When Annie settles down, she greets my father warmly and then sticks her head out the door.

"Ginerva!" she yells. "Come here!"

The girl who walks in radiates beauty. Her straight red hair is long and thick, sharp bangs fall right above her eyebrows. Her eyes are framed with eyeliner, and they are an electric brown. She's tall, only a few inches shorter than I. Her eyes rest on me for a moment and then look away.

"Katniss, I don't think you've met my daughter, Ginerva?"

"Ginnie," Ginerva says quickly, pulling down on the dress she's wearing. Mother smiles slightly.

"The last time I saw you, Annie, you were pregnant!" mother exclaims. "Everything was so crazy…" her smile fades, and father takes her hand.

"Is this your son?" Annie asks, changing the subject and looking at me.

"Finnick," I say, holding out my hand. Annie ignores it and hugs me so tightly, I think she's trying to choke me. She's crying in my shoulder, and I awkwardly standing there, not sure what to do.

"Finnick!" she sobs. Father looks at her sadly. Why is that name so important to her? When Annie gets herself together, she wipes her eyes and tries to for a smile. "I'm sorry dear. Finnick was my husband."

"Your husband?"

"Yes." She sniffles. "He was with your parents in their second Hunger Games. During the war, we got married in District 13."

"I wouldn't remember," father grumbles. He looks embarrassed at what he said and looks down. So many questions run through my head, like angry wasps stinging me.

"No you wouldn't," Annie says, smiling sadly. "You were out to kill Katniss."

"So, Annie, why did you come all this way?" mother asks eventually.

Annie looks around nervously. Dominic is sleeping in a chair, drooling. Ginnie hasn't touched her tea, her eyes keep flitting around nervously. Mother seems to understand something I don't, because the color drains from her face and she bites her lip. Father seems confused. "Finn, why don't you show Ginnie around town?" Awkwardly, we both stand up and head for the door.

"We aren't really going to walk into town, are we?" Ginnie asks.

I laugh. "No of course not, come on." We walk to the side of the house, where the kitchen window is open, and listen.

"Is that why the Capitol has been silent for a while?" mother asks in a strained voice.

"Yes. President Pivett thinks the Districts are getting a little too relaxed and lacking. It was only because I am a victor that they let me come here, and I need to go back the day before the reaping," Annie says.

Ginnie and I look at each other, eyes wide.

Father says grimly, "And they'll pick our children." He sounds defeated, deflated.

"Most likely..."

"Why didn't they inform us?" mother demands.

"You two are the faces of rebellion! Well, you two and that charming friend of ours, Katniss." Gale. "What sweeter revenge than to see your reaction when your children die on national television?"

Tilda. No. Not Matilda. Anybody but her.

"Why don't they just kill us?" mother asks, and by the way she says it, it sounds like something she's said before.

"They have no reason to, and it'd be a lot less entertaining."

Father says something, but I'm not listening, I'm sprinting towards the Hawthorne's house, heart racing. I think Ginnie might be behind me but I don't look back.

"Tilda! Tilda!" I bellow, knocking on the door. I just go to open it when it flies open, revealing a wild looking Gale.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Mr. Hawthorne I don't have time to explain. Where's Matilda?" I ask urgently.

"What's wrong, Finnick?" Tilda asks, appearing out from behind a hallway. Her eyes rest on Ginnie for a moment, and she narrows her eyes before walking over to me and placing her hand on my shoulder. "What?"

"Tilda, they're having another Hunger Games," I say. Her eyes widen, and I sigh with relief that she believes me.

"What?" she whispers, ghostly pale like I confirmed her worst fear.

"President Pivett is bringing back the Hunger Games," I say.

She looks up at me, and I've never seen her more scared. Gale is behind her, looking at me like he's not believing what he's hearing. I'm not sure I do either. Very quickly, with one blink of an eye, Tilda composes herself to her old self. She does it so quickly, in fact, that I think maybe the fear in her eyes was just a trick of the light.

Running her fingers through her hair, she asks, "Why…why would he do that?"

"He thinks the Districts are becoming a little too relaxed, and not doing the jobs they are supposed to be doing," Ginnie answers for me. Matilda ignores her, and sudden realization swoops into her eyes.

"They're going to put us in the Games. We're going in the arena, Finnick," she whispers so softly, I barely hear her.

"No!" Gale bellows, clearly outraged. "They're going to have a reaping, right? Right?"

"I don't know," I admit.

"Well, they have to! If they're just picking the tributes themselves, won't that make the Districts even angrier?"

"We're still weak from the War, Gale," Tilda says suddenly. She looks tired, like she's been expecting this. "They know we can't possibly fight back. We've had to work for the food on our tables." She gestures to me. "Meanwhile, they've gotten everything handed to them from us. They get their food, their fuel, from us. If we rebel, sure they'll be cut short from supplies, but who knows how long that'll last? The Capitol will take us down in a second, without even second guessing themselves, and then we'd have eleven Districts."

We all fall silent at her logic. She's obviously thought this through very thoroughly. "But they're obviously going to pick the children of those they hate and fear the most," Tilda says, repeating what Annie said. "Katniss is number one, they'd love to see her breakdown when her child just so happens to be reaped. They hate you too," she says, looking at her father. He looks like he's in pain.

'They won't send you or Hazelle in the arena," I say. "They'll send me and my sister."

"They can't," Gale says grimly. "Primrose just turned eighteen."

"Who's to say they can't bend the rules?" Ginny asks. It surprises me who openly she's taking to this stranger.

"Finnick is right. They'd want another love story. Another couple to drool over," he says. "Only this time, they'll only let one person out. And they will most definitely make one watch the other die. You two will be protected until the end, when there's only two of you, and then you'll have to kill each other." I'm surprised by his words, but they make sense. "What's more entertaining than a young couple being torn apart at the hands of the Capitol?" he asks dryly.

"No berries this time," I murmur.


	5. Chapter 5

In a haze, Tilda, Ginnie, and I walk to my home, leaving Gale alone. I barely notice Matilda holding my hand until I catch Ginnie looking at us, and I blush and drop her hand.

Ginnie, walks in the house, not caring if we follow her or not. Tilda and I linger on the front porch.

"Your father's right, you know," I say eventually.

Tilda doesn't take her eyes off the setting sun. "Well, I'm not killing you, Finn," she says.

"And I'm not killing you."

A sudden smile appears on her face, and she looks at me. Despite everything flying around us, she still manages to look stunning with the breeze gently whipping her hair around and the pink sky behind her. "Well, I guess that's a rebellion in itself," she says.

I find myself chuckling. "Yeah I guess it is."

"We aren't much different from our parents, are we?"

I let the question hang there. I've never really thought about it. I've been told I'm like my mother, attitude and all, but that I carry father's ability to charm anyone into doing anything. Prim is Prim, no one questions her. She's her own beauty, her own person, and that's what I've always admired about her.

"What would happen if we just ran off?" I hear myself asking. "Into the woods."

Matilda looks at me, not seeming surprised by this proposition. "I think they'd find us," she answers, tilting her head the way she does when she's thinking. "They'd find us and kill us. If they know that we are close, then they've obviously been watching us for years. And where else do we spend most of our time but the woods? It'd be so easy to catch us, kill us publicly, in front of our parents, making them watch."

"They seem to be able to do a lot of things easily, don't they?" I ask sourly.

She smiles slightly. "Yeah, they do. But they have something we don't."

"And what's that?'

"We have the ability to feel."

I don't ask her to clarify, I let it float in the air between us like a bubble, but never touching the ground.

"I don't want to go in there," I say eventually, looking at the door. "I don't want them to explain it all over again."

Silently, she slips her hand into mine, but this time I don't pull away. Taking a deep breath, I open the door.

Mother, father, and Annie are sitting by the fireplace, murmuring amongst themselves. Mother must've actually been crying, because she has her face pressed into dad's shirt, her body shaking a little. Tilda holds on to my hand tighter, and I don't let go. She feels like my anchor, my rock, and I think I can still see the sunset in her eyes.

"Oh good, you're here!" father breathes, and mother lifts her head, eyes red and puffy. It's the second time I've ever seen her cry. The first time was when Haymitch died. She looks at father's hand that's in hers for reassurance and gets up, an unreadable emotion in her eyes.

Matilda drops my hand, sensing something I can't. "Want to go for a walk?" she asks in a sore voice. I don't say anything, just let her guide me out of the house.

"I know what you're going to say," I say eventually, wanting to avoid her breaking the news to me. She sighs, deflated.

"I figured. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. You asked me what the Hunger Games were like," mother says.

"Yes."

"If they chose you, Finnick-"

"Mom," I say, reaching out and grabbing her hand. She stops walking and abruptly looks at me. "I know they're going to choose me. There's no need to lie to me."

She looks like she wants to deny it but then says, "When you go into that arena, it won't be like you think it'll be."

"What do you mean?"

"The Games have a way of working their way into your mind, into your heart, and staying there forever," she says.

"You still have nightmares," I comment.

"You've never asked me what I dream about," she says. I don't say anything for fear she won't tell me, and then she says, "Wolves. Mutant wolves chasing after me in the arena, and your father is dead, blood pouring out of his mouth, and I'm running, running, but not really wanting to live. Peeta dreams about chocking me, his fingers locked around my neck, watching the life slip out my eyes." I blink, surprised by her details. "That's what the Games do to you. The nightmares never truly leave. You can do what Haymitch did. You can drink yourself to the point where you can dream about other things."

"What did you do?" I ask.

She smiles wearily. "I slept with your father's arms around me. That was the only thing that kept the nightmares away from us. Peeta painted." We walk a little farther, the only noise the gravel crunching beneath our feet. I look at mother, really look at her for the first time, and see a beautiful woman who's worst fears have been confirmed. I can see that she would take my place if she could in a heartbeat, but she can't. I see a woman who the Capitol has tortured, emotionally and physically. They have put her through the wringer, put her through a war, made her the symbol of a rebellion, stripped her of every right, killed her little sister who was barely a teenager, blew up her father to bits in the mines, and left her with only my father to rely on, the only sure thing she could hold on to.

Mother seems to see the spark of anger that flashes in my eyes and heats my body, because she puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. "Don't you go doing what I did, now," she warns.

I shake her hands off. "Everything you fought for, who you lost so many people to, all that was for what? To watch you son die on television? I don't know how, I don't know when, but they will pay for what they've done to you, to father. Okay?" Tears are swimming in her eyes. "Okay, mom?" I ask urgently.

She smiles a watery smile and then says, "You're more like me than I ever wanted to realize." I quirk an eyebrow. "I said the exact same thing to Peeta years ago." She strokes my cheek and does sometime completely unexpected, she hugs me. I can't remember the last time she's embraced me, maybe when I sprained my ankle when I was eight. She feels familiar though, very comforting, and I almost never want to leave. "I love you, Finny," she whispers, calling me by my old nickname. "I don't tell you that enough."

"I love you too, mom," I mutter. She releases me, sniffling, and takes my hand as we walk back to the house.

Tilda is swinging on the swing Prim built with father years ago, looking off to the side. Her hair is dangling in front of her face, so I can't see her eyes, can't measure her emotion. The swing hangs from the big oak tree that stands in our front yard, but I haven't so much as looked at it in forever.

"Go," mother says gently, and walks inside.

Wondering what exactly she meant, I walk forward and sit on the swing next to her. I remember crying because Prim got a swing and I didn't, and the next morning an identical one was swinging in the summer breeze next to the original.

"Hey," I say.

She seems to realize I've arrived, and she looks at me. I realize tears are flooding her eyes. I don't think I've ever seen her cry before. "Tilda…" I say, getting to my knees in front of her and looking her up in the face.

Tilda shakes her head as if to say she's fine, but then she breaks down crying. The next moment, her arms are around mine and she's pulling me towards her, like a little child would cling to their parent. Her tears stain my t-shirt, but I don't mine. I keep my arms firmly locked around her, letting her sob. Her fingers tangle in my hair and then the back of my neck. Apart from last night when I kissed her, we've never been this close. She's always maintained a distance from people, not wanting to get close, and I've never asked her why.

When she can breathe, she pulls herself away far enough that we can look each other in the eye.

"Finnick, I'm scared," she whispers, eyes wide.

For Matilda, the strongest person I know next to my mother, to say she's scared, it's a reassurance that what's happening is indeed real. Scary, but real.

"Matilda listen to me," she looks up at the sound of me using her full name. "I don't know how, and I don't know how easy it will be, but you will come out of that arena," I say in a flinty voice. Two promises to two people in the same evening, I'm on a roll. I wonder what night will bring.

She almost smiles and shakes her head sadly. "It's not me I'm worried about, Finn. I know you'll take care of me." I must look confused, because she leans forward, grabs my hand, and whispers, "It's you I'm worried about."

"Me? Why me?" I demand.

Her hand rest on my cheek, and she's still smiling wearily. "You won't let me watch after you, you'll be too busy protecting me. What you don't realize is that by doing that, you'll end up getting us both killed because I'll get mad and get up and leave."

"I know you can protect yourself, Tilda," I grumble.

"No, you don't. You don't realize that I'm a big girl now. I've seen the way you stand in front of me if we hear a noise in the woods. I see how you look at any guy that talks to me, even if he's twice as big as you are. I know that you want to protect me, but I'm not nine years old anymore."

I don't say anything, just memorize the feeling of her cool hand pressed against mine. She buries her face in my shirt. "I want to stay here forever," I whisper.

"You're much more welcoming than the rest of the world," she mutters, not budging.

"I hope you realize something," I say after a moment.

"Mm?"

"I'm ready to die. I will die if that means that you get to go home alive." And the moment the words are out, I know there is no taking them back. I mean every word I said, and I intend to stay true to them. She will go home alive.

This makes her lift her head and look me in the eye evenly. It's there, with that look in her green eyes, that I realize if somehow, with some grand stroke of luck, we both come out of this alive, I will never let her go. Is that how father feels?

"So am I," she says, and with the wind blowing back her hair and the look on her face, she looks like some ancient warrior goddess. Suddenly, she stands up. "My parents are going to wonder where I am, I should be going."

"No," I say, startled, and get up with her. "Don't go. Please. I don't think I can stand going back in there alone." I sound like such a child, but I need her. "Seeing my mother cry in front of me scares me, Tilda."

She bites her lip, thinking. "Good night," she says, and gets on her tip toes. I almost fall to the ground when she kisses me, but I recover and find myself picking her up in my arms. Her legs wrap around her mine and I hoist her so she's taller than me, never once breaking our lips apart.

"Oh! Sorry!" a voice squeaks. I practically drop Tilda to the ground in surprise. Ginnie is standing there, blushing. Her hair is wet like she just came out of the shower. I smirk, a little breathless, and Tilda doesn't take her hand off of chest. "I'll um… I'll just go back inside." She runs back inside.

"Good night, Finn," Tilda whispers again, and gives my hand a squeeze before disappearing in the night sky. I sigh and walk into the house.

A fire, the first fire of the season, is crackling. Annie is curled up on the couch, in deep conversation with father in hushed voices, and mother is staring at the fire, rubbing her head at the exact same spot where I get my headaches. I sit next to her.

Prim walks inside, and by the look on her face I can tell that she knows what happened. With much more bravery than I could ever muster, she gives mother a squeeze on the shoulder and curses the Capitol. Father and Annie look up in surprise, but don't scold her. Seething, Prim sits down and crosses her arms.

"Where have you been all day?" I ask her.

"At the city library finding out as much as could about the Hunger Games," she says, pulling out a couple old books from her bag. "Not very useful, the Capitol obviously made these."

"How do you know?" father asks.

"Or by District One. They basically sugarcoat the Games and say how helpful they were to society and Panem. All a bunch of bull-"

"Prim," mother warns, slowly coming back to earth.

Sighing dramatically, Prim shoves the books back in the bag. "But we learned about them in school," I remark. "What else could there possibly be?" father chuckles dryly, and I suddenly feel very stupid.

"Finnick," Prim begins, "the Capitol designs the teaching material that the schoolteachers are required to teach us. Obviously, they wouldn't dare make themselves sound bad! They didn't want the children, who have more power than they seem to notice, upset with them."

"What do you mean by 'who have more power than they seem to notice'?" I ask.

"Look at mother and father," she says simply with a jerk of her head. "They were only eighteen when they rebelled against the Capitol."

Silence fills the room. "When is the reaping?" I ask.

"In three days," father says in a strained voice.

More silence.

I hate silence.

I hate the Capitol.

But most of all, I hate that my heart is getting in the way of this all.


	6. Chapter 6

That night I have a very vivid dream. I'm swimming under a cold ocean, salt burning my eyes. My throat is on fire, and my lungs feel as though they are going to explode. I need to get to the surface, to breathe, but I'm stuck. I kick and yell for help, but my voice just goes up in bubbles and pops before it can hit the surface.

Out of nowhere, a mermaid appears. She giggles when she sees me, as if she's laughing at my feeble attempts to escape. But I can't stay here and watch her, I have to get to the surface, have to breathe. And the mermaid just keeps laughing at me and flipping her hair, batting her big eyes at me.

"Help me!" I manage to scream at her. And she stops laughing. Her eyes become steely and cold.

So much pain… I see blood coming out from somewhere and making a pool of red. "Help!"  
She just glares at me, as if I've crossed some sort of line and I can never be forgiven.

As darkness clouds my vision, she smiles a very evil smile and waves her hand, and I hurl to the bottom of the ocean, screaming.

I wake up in a cold sweat, both shivering and sweating. The clock next to my bed says five A.M. Slowly, knowing sleep won't come and grab me again, I make my way out of bed and to the bathroom. I take a long, steamy shower, letting the hot water hit my body like tiny bullets.

I am surprised to find Ginnie sitting on the front porch when I walk outside. She's dressed in tight pants and boots, with a black shirt and her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Good morning," I say awkwardly, sitting with my mug of hot chocolate on the chair by the door.

"What? Oh, good morning," she says, and goes back to thinking. "It's tomorrow," she says quietly after a while.

"What is?" I ask, thinking I already know the answer.

"The reaping. This is our last day of living a normal life," Ginnie answers. I realize she's right. "You have a pretty District, Finnick. Very green." When she sinks back into her stupor and I figure she's dead to the world, I make my way to the woods.

A mockingjay, a beautiful, tiny bird with gray tawny feathers, is perched on a branch in the meadow near my house. This one has bright grey eyes, and it's looking at me expectantly, as if expect anting me to sing. "Well, gee, little birdy," I murmur, looking up at it. My mother and I have always had a soft spot for mockingjays. "I haven't sang a single note since I would run with Prim through here." It blinks at me.

Something in me breaks and I let out a verse of four-notes. Rue's notes, my mother would call them. She would bring my sister and I in here, in the meadow, and sing to us. We would chase her around and she would hold her arms out and let out beautiful, high pitched, clear notes, and all the birds that were singing would hush and look at her.

_Mommy! Mommy!  
Yes, Finny?_

_ Sing the meadow song! Sing the meadow song! Please mommy, _please_?_

_ She smiles down at us, beautiful hair braided neatly down her back. It's hard to believe that just a few years ago, this woman was the leader of a rebellion. She picks up a bright pink flower and places it neatly behind her daughter's ear. _

_ Sing it for me, Prim._

The scene dissolves, and I sway back and forth. I've forgotten about that moment, so many years ago. It hits me how much mother has changed, how beaten down she is now that Prim and I have grown up. And last night, when I saw her broken and crying, it's hard to believe that she could ever win a war.

"You wanna hear a song, birdie?" I whisper to the bird, and it seems to nod.

_Deep in the meadow, under a willow._

_ A blade of grass, a soft green pillow…_

The song goes on, creating a beautiful scene of a garden. Mother would sing it to us all the time, saying her father sang it to her. I've completely forgotten about that song, except for when I catch myself humming it sometimes in the shower.

The song finishes with a light, happy note. The bird looks at me, and the other mockingjays nearby stop singing their high-pitched songs. Then, very slowly, they start repeating my song until the whole meadow is humming with the tune. The grey-eyed mockingjay sings the loudest, carrying the music, and doesn't leave his perch.

"The birds fall silent when you sing," a voice says, and I jump. Tilda walks out from behind a tree.

"They do when my mother sings," I say, not looking her in the eye. "But not for me."

I feel her arm link through mine and she rests her head on my shoulder. "Stop being so humble. I remember in first grade when the teacher asked us to sing the National Anthem." I chuckle a little in embarrassment. "You sang the loudest and clearest."

"I remember you beat me up that day," I remark. "Punched me right in the jaw because you said I looked at you funny." Tilda laughs, a full, heart-felt laugh that rings through the meadow, and I realize that we've finally found the place where we can be ourselves, amongst the red leaves and too-green grass.

I look at her, really look at her for the first time. She looks more like her father than I give her credit for. Her smile is sad like his, the way she runs her fingers through her hair and licks her lips, and the way they both clench their fists when angry. But she's also someone completely different than her parents, someone all her own. The way she walks and seems to float at the same time, the way light seems to travel through her eyes and kiss her face, the way she breathes…

"What?" she asks, still smiling.

"I was just thinking…" What was I thinking? She quirks an eyebrow at me.  
"Will we be like this after the games?"

"Whatya mean?" she asks, lying down. The grass matches her eyes perfectly.

I lie next to her, and she surprises me by cuddling in the crook of my arm. I can't help but notice how perfectly her body fits in mine, like two missing puzzle pieces.

"Will it be this easy?" I ask, throat sore. "Will we be able to come here and smile? My dad walked out without a leg, my mother with scars all over her body."

"But it runs deeper than just what scars you get in there, Finn," she murmurs. "What your parents saw in there has contaminated their minds, taken away what little childhood they could ever hope to have. I don't think you realize how life changing it must be in there, how scary it is to be on your own, knowing deep in your heart that only one person can live, and you might have two watch the death of twenty three other kids no older than you. Those kids haven't had childhoods either."

I let that sink in. "Do you think the other Districts know?"

"I would think so. If 12 found out, I'm assuming at least 1 and 2 have found out as well. They'll be the ones with the head start."

And she's right. I wonder if the kids from Districts One, Two, and Four all are still Careers. If they will still band together. Will they dominate the Games again, or have they forgotten about them and lived their life like normal people?

We don't say anything, just listen to the sounds of the mockingjays repeating my music.

"Can we just stay here all day?" Tilda whispers, closing her eyes.

"Mhm," I mutter, letting the sun bake my skin. Like Ginnie said, this is our last day or living our normal lives. What better way to spend it like this?

"Our parents will be wondering where we are," she whispers. Her head has gone from my arm to my chest, and I find myself stroking her hair.

"Tilda, we've been out for a whole day before without telling our parents. They won't worry this time."

"I like listening to your heartbeat," she murmurs. "It's the only thing that I know will always be there for me." I don't know how to respond to this, so I just keep looking up at the sky and letting my thoughts wonder.

I can tell Matilda floats in and out of consciousness, because she murmurs in her sleep. I can't understand most of what she says, but I am certain she keeps on repeating my name.

"Finnick…"

"I'm here," I say gently, knowing she can't hear me.

"Don't…don't go…" she says groggily with a snore.

"I won't," I whisper.

"You…you promise?" she asks, suddenly angry.

"Always."  
"Good." And she stops talking. I wonder if she'll remember any of that conversation, but to me it's changed everything.

Eventually, when the evening sun begins to set, she wakes up with a start. "Finnick," she says, sitting up very abruptly.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

Her eyes focus and she sighs with relief. "Nothing. God, did I fall asleep?" I nod. "I didn't sleep at all last night."

"Me neither."

She's pulling her hair up into a ponytail when she says, "We better go back." I take her hand in mine as we walk back.

I hear their voices before we even enter the house. This is no surprise, mother and Gale usually argue, but now the argument is really heated.

"Gale, you're my best friend!" mother says, clearly starting to get angry. I can't see them, but I can imagine mom's body ready to pounce like an animal.

"Oh, is that all I ever was to you, Katniss?" Gale retorts, angry.

"Gale, I'm _married!_"

"Answer me this: Did you ever love me? Really, truly love me?" he demands.

There's a moment of hesitation, and then, in a hushed voice, "Yes."

Tilda and I look at each other, eyes wide. I've always known mother and Gale were best friends, grew up together, but I had never stopped to think of him loving her, holding her, kissing her, like father does. It's just never crossed my mind.

"After the Victory tour," mother continues, "when you were beaten, whipped. And I saw you lying there shaking in pain, bleeding all over, screaming, I was terrified. Not of what you looked like, but of the sudden prospect of losing you. Losing you was unbearable. And that night, when you were sleeping, I decided that I picked you. That I was going to love you forever-"

"But then Mr. Perfect walked back into your life and you forgot about me," Gale sneers, still seething.

"We were thrown into the arena again together, Gale!" mother screams. "What I never told you," she says, her voice shaking from anger, "is that Snow threatened to kill you. He told me he had no problem with it."

"And what loss would that have been to you?" he asks.

There's the sound of a hand slapping someone, and Tilda puts her hand over her mouth. "Get. Out. Of. My. House," mother says, clipping the words together.

Gale storms out, slamming the door violently behind him. There's a red mark on his cheek. He doesn't even notice us.

"Let's go," Tilda mouths, and guides me into the woods.

We tread deeper and deeper into the trees, until I begin to wonder where we're going. We can't be hunting, neither of us has a weapon, and the meadow is way off.

_Mommy, aren't you coming swimming? The little girl asks, frowning._

_ Katniss lies on Peeta's legs, smiling wearily. Peeta, blue eyes shining, breaks open a warm piece of bread and hands it to his wife. She kisses him, bread crumbs on both of their lips._

_ Ew! The little boy, younger than his sister, says._

I fall back to reality. Tilda is standing in front of me, but her back is to me. In fact, she's waist deep in the warm lake water, her hear draped over her shoulder so I can see her bare back. Her clothes are in a heap by a tree, and the moonlight has drained all the color so everything is black and white.

Hesitating only slightly, I strip and then jump into the lake. Unthinkingly, she leans against me, and it's very hard to keep my eyes focused in front of me. It wasn't awkward when we were children, and father would bring us here.

"He still loves her, you know," she murmurs.

"Who?"

"Gale," she says, and I notice that she's never called her father "dad," always Gale. "The way he looks at her, it's like he's looking at a million bucks." Suddenly, she starts crying, and she throws her arms around my neck. "Oh Finnick!"

"What?" I ask stupidly.

"I'll never get married! I'll never have children! I'll never even get a job! My last memory will be a blood-thirsty child who is forced to kill me!"

The weight of her words really hit me. I've never thought about it, but I guess in the back of my mind I always knew I'd end up marrying Tilda. Now, even that, the Capitol has taken it from us.

I kiss her gently, holding her as if she might break. "I told you, I'll make sure you get out alive," I whisper.

"Even if I do make it out of there alive, I'll never be able to get married!"

"And why ever not?" I ask. "You're the most beautiful woman, you could get any guy you wanted to."

"You don't get it, do you?" she asks, suddenly angry, and she pushes against my chest. "I'll never be able to fall in love if it's not you! I can never love anybody else!" she yells.

When we kiss, it seems urgent, like this might be the last time we'll ever be close to each other. I can feel the world's hands pushing us apart, slowly choking us.

"Finnick…" she whispers, as if sensing it too.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk once we're in the arena," I murmur, lifting her up. She smiles, not opening her eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

"Happy birthday!" a voice exclaims. I open my eyes wearily. Tilda pounces on me, smiling. "Happy birthday!" she repeats.

I've completely forgotten that it's my birthday. She settles herself in my lap as I groggily sit up. Any awkwardness that could've possibly filled the space from the night before is gone, replaced by the urgency of the day at hand. "What a better way to spend it than riding a train to my certain death," I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck.

Tilda frowns, disappointed. Feeling bad for my harsh remark, I take her head in my hand and gently kiss her forehead. "You never know, they might never even pick you," I murmur.

She doesn't say a word, just puts her head on my shoulder. I can feel the goose bumps on her arms.

Mother calls me from downstairs, and Tilda climbs off my bed. "I'll see you before the reaping?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "It's already eleven; your mother wouldn't let me wake you up before then. She said the more sleep you had the better. Plus, you came home late…" she blushes and then leaves the room, and I can't help but think that that encounter might've been the last one we ever have.

Dressing quickly in a light blue shirt and jeans that I find lying on a chair, I walk downstairs. Mother is flipping eggs, her hair braided down her back. She kisses me on the cheek. "Happy birthday, dear. I just wish we could've spent it in better conditions," she says.

"Where's Annie and Ginnie?" I ask.

"Left last night," she replies shortly.

Father walks in next. "Well, everything is all set. The reaping is at two." I notice mother bite her lip and blink her eyes a couple times. Prim sits down at the table heavily, no emotion on her face.

"Happy birthday," she says eventually.

"Thanks."

Silence fills the room. I can't stand it so I run upstairs and sit on the roof, staring at District 12, the only place I've ever known. I can't stop my mind from producing images of Ginnie lying beneath me, blood all over her, and a weapon in my hand… I shiver, but not from the autumn cold.

The two hours pass too quickly, and before I know it, I'm being huddled to the Town Square. "Come here for a second," father says before I go to stand with all the confused looking boys.

"Yeah?"

He seems unsure of what to say, and I find that weird. My dad, Peeta Mellark, the man who's known for his way with words. "Stay strong okay? Not for you, but for her," she says, nodding towards mother. "I've seen her fall once, I couldn't do it again."

He seems to hear the hesitation in my mind, because he adds, "I know you want her out alive. Trust me, I know _exactly _how you feel, I was in the same position. Just….just stay the same man you are now, and it'll be okay. Alright?"

I nod. He claps me on the back and goes to stand next to mother, very boldly holding her hand. I notice the cameras are focused on them, the star-crossed lovers from the poorest District in Panem, still together. Gale stands behind them.

I see Matilda. Her hair is braided down her back, like mother's. She's dressed in a light blue dress that matches the color of my shirt. I have to stop and wonder if our parents planned this. I try for a smile, but I find out that it's not going to work and mouth the first thing that comes to my mind, the thing I've wanted to say, "I love you." She doesn't see me though, because at that moment a women in a bright pink wig and teal dress walks on the stage, smiling a fake smile. It's obvious she doesn't want to be here, but 12 has a certain magical air. After all, the Girl on Fire was born here.

"Hello! Hello!" she exclaims into a rusty microphone. Her voice is squeaky and she carries a strange accent.

"Effie!" mother squeaks behind us.

"The time has come to select one brave man and women to participate in the 76th Annual Hunger Games!" she says cheerily. "To refresh our memory of the history of the Games, let's watch a short video clip!"

The video talks about how cruel the Districts were during the Rebellion. I see a brief flash of mother shooting an arrow.

"Well, ladies first!" Effie says, and runs her fingers in a big glass ball full of tiny slips of paper.

I look over at Tilda, but her face is hidden behind a big, chubby girl. Effie looks at the paper dramatically and says, "Matilda Hazelle Hawthorne."

There's a pause in which seems to go on forever, and Matilda, looking striking, walks on the stage, head high. Gale's faces flash on the screen, but their eyes are unreadable. I notice Hazelle, tears streaking down her face, but not making a sound.

"And now for the male tribute," Effie says, walking over to another glass ball and picking out a name. She makes a dramatic gasp and says, "Finnick Haymitch Mellark." The cameras swing in on my parents, but when I turn back and look at them they just nod, stone cold expressions.

As soon as I stand on the stage, Effie says, slightly uncomfortable, "Shake hands, tributes." Instead of shaking my hand, Tilda runs and jumps in my arms. Unthinkingly, I wrap my arms around her. She's not crying, I know she would refuse to cry in front of anyone but me. After about a minute of me comforting her, a Peacekeeper comes and takes her away.

"Finnick!" she shouts, eyes desperate.

"Go," I say sternly, a lead weight in my stomach.

"Well, that was certainly moving," Effie says, wiping a tear from her eyes. A pair of Peacekeepers comes and takes me into the Justice Building. I've never been here before, but I don't take any time to admire any of it.

The room they throw me in is like a prison cell.

Not one minute later, the door bursts open, and what feels like a second later, she's pushed out of the room and Primrose runs in.

I've never seen her so human looking. Her hair is pulled up in a bun, her blue eyes wide, swimming with tears. "Live, okay?" she asks urgently. "Live. For me." I don't know what to say. "FINNICK."

"Yes," I say. "Of course." And I know that because it's Prim, I'll have to.

"You swear?" she asks, holding out her hand. I take it in mine.

"Yes."

She deflates, relieved. "Good. I love you, Finny. I don't tell you that enough." She kisses me on the cheek before leaving, pushing the Peacekeepers hard on the shoulders. My sister has always seemed to get away with stuff like, but that might just be because the men were looking at her with drool on their faces.

I sit on the couch, wondering if anyone else will come and visit me, and decided against it. Mother and father will both be my mentors, both training me to fight to the death. Will this give me an edge, the fact that both of my parents have survived two Games and a war, or will the Gamemakers keep me under lock and chain? I amuse myself with this question until a scarlet-head women walks in. She has the profound air to her of the Capitol, just as I probably radiate District 12 with my grey eyes and tan skin.

"Mellark, Finnick?" she asks. She's dressed in a tight navy blue pencil skirt and frilly white shirt. Her eyebrows are high above her eyes, giving the impression of permentant shock on her pale face.

"Yes," I say, standing up. I wonder if I should shake her hand, but she seems to read my thoughts and shakes her head slightly. I can't help but smirk at the fact that I tower a good head above her.

"I am Avery, you're designer," she says. The way her eyes size me up and down makes me feel as though she's imaging me in every sort of suit imaginable. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"The fact that I'm Katniss Everdeen's son?" I ask dryly, figuring this is the point.

A sudden smile appears on Avery's face. "No, although that is rather peculiar isn't it?" something about the way she says peculiar makes me think she knows that the Capitol rigged this. "I was going to say that the fact that you and the girl tribute match quite well. I'm deciding if I want you to change before leaving or not."

I don't say anything. "Are you two a couple?" she asks.

"I fail to see how that matters," I snap. She looks up at me, amused.

"It changes everything, Finnick," she says, and doesn't say a word. After a moment of looking me up and down, she pulls out an electric gadget from her purse and presses a few buttons. When she puts it away, she looks me in the eye. "So, are you two a couple?" she repeats.

"Childhood friends," I say shortly.

She quirks an eyebrow. "Childhood sweethearts, eh? Well, I can play up that angle quite nicely." There's a sharp knock at the door. "Good." She opens is barely enough, and I can't see who is standing there, but when she turns she's holding mother's old hunting jacket.

"You recognize this, I assume?" Avery asks.

"Mhm."

"Put it on," she orders, and tosses it to me. When I ask why, she answers, "Because I said so." I make a sound of annoyance and her expression seems to soften. "You don't like to be told what to do, do you?" she asks quietly. I let out of a scoff at this. She smiles wearily, brushing a piece of her red hair away from her eyes. "Okay. I want you to wear it because it's a piece of your history that Panem knows well."

"You don't like the Capitol either?" I ask, finally throwing on the jacket. It smells like home, or bread and perfume.

Avery doesn't say anything, but she winks. I decide she might be okay. "Come on, they're waiting for you." We walk outside, the breeze kissing our faces.

Matilda has played the strong angle, not shedding a tear. Or if she has, she doesn't show it. Oddly enough, she clutches onto my mother's hand and I wonder when they became such good friends. They're both staring straight ahead, and as soon as mother looks at me, she releases Tilda and runs towards me, hugging me like so many people have. For the first time through all this mess, I'm at threat of tears.

"Don't cry mom," I whisper into her ear. "There are cameras everywhere."

She smiles a watery smile and strokes my cheek. Father slouches behind, arms open when mom walks back to him. I can't help but envy them, they at least know the other will be there in the morning. Tilda avoids me gaze. They've added a touch of makeup to her, giving her face a pinkish glow. She bites her lip, looking down at her shoes.

Our goodbyes are short and brief. Primrose surprises me yet again by grabbing mother by the shoulders and looking her in the eye with such a fierce expression it seems out of place on her peaceful face. "Listen to me," she says, almost yelling. "Listen!" mother won't look her in the eye. "Don't cry. Don't cry, okay? Okay? If I see you cry, _I _will go on that train and take your place, and we all know how that would end. You've been through so much and you're going to let this tear you down? Don't cry! Dammit mother!" Prim hugs her, looking straight ahead. Mother seems so weak at that moment. "I love you. Now go."

Mother gives the camera a parting glance with sixteen years-worth of hatred in her eyes. Father, more peaceful, the calm to the storm, takes her hand as they walk on the train.

"Wait!" a familiar voice yells. Gale runs onto the train station and picks up Tilda, twirling her around. Any resolution not to cry resolves at that moment, because Tilda starts balling in his shoulder. "I love you, Matilda," he says, getting down on his knees and looking her in the eye.

"I love you too," she says in between sobs.

"You're my girl. My little girl… I love you, okay?"

When the Peacekeepers come and try to drag Gale away, I have to hold Tilda back to stop her from running towards him, but I can't stop her from screaming, "Dad! Dad NO! Dad!" every sound she makes breaks my heart. I'm forced to carry her inside the train.

The train is huge, with lavish furnishings and a velvet blue carpet. Mother is sitting on a chair, head between her knees, with father's arm around her. He seems glued to her side, but somehow I doubt it was like that the first time they stepped on the train. Was it this very one? Somehow, that seems crude to ask though.

Slowly, Tilda coaxes herself back to reality and redeems her usual, serious expression, detaching herself from my arms and walking to the end of the train, leaning against the large window and thinking. Everyone is so silent, it startles me when Effie walks on.

"Katniss dear!" Effie exclaims, arms open as if to embrace her. Mother looks up, a look full of anger on her face. Effie's arms drop, a surprised look on her face.

"All these years," mother says, her voice shaking. "All these years you had the chance to pick up a phone and ask me if I was still alive but no, you stayed in the comforting arms of the Capitol, dying your precious wig." The sarcasm droops out of her voice like acid, and Tilda turns to look at her. Effie's mouth has made a prominent _o_ shape that I would've normally laughed at if the situation were different. Avery walks on, not taking notice of the tension in the room, or if she does, she does a very good job of hiding it. A short, balding little man walks next to her. He has a present, smiling face unlike his partner. It seems as though him and Tilda have already met, because he smiles at her and she nods back.

The train gives a lurch, and we speed off. Matilda gasps at the noise. Father gets up and grabs a bottle of wine, drinking right from the bottle. I wander down the train, looking around. The doors open automatically, my room locked only by a passcode that I design. I notice the windows are locked, firmly in place, and I feel a sense of claustrophobia. Something in the air makes me look around the airy bedroom, and I finally place the feeling. It feels as though someone is watching me, observing my every move.

A bell rings for dinner and we gather in a surprisingly large table, food piled on. Sure, my family has more money than anyone does in District 12, but we've never had this much food. All types of meats, potatoes, vegetables, breads dedicated to all thirteen districts.

It hits me.

"There's going to be twenty-six tributes this year, isn't there?" I ask dryly, fingering a piece of bread the color of the ocean from District 4.

Mother and father look at each other, and I can tell this hasn't hit them. Dad recovers first. "Well, uh, yes I suppose so."

"Or maybe 28, if they're sending two from the Capitol," Tilda says. Twenty-seven other people to watch die. Or maybe if I'm lucky, I'll die early and just hope that Tilda makes it out alive. I shake that thought out of my head, I will fight to the end, even if that means taking my life and making sure Tilda goes home with a beating heart, and I have to go home in a cold wooden box.

Am I imaging things, or does Matilda ever so slightly shake her head at me? Her green eyes hover on me for a moment and then fall back down to her plate. Father's fork hovers in his hand for a second before it all goes downhill.


	8. Chapter 8

The first sign I know he was having a breakdown was when he drops his fork with a too-loud bang on the floor. The second sign was when his eyes glazed over and had a strange red ting to them. The third was when he looks up and looks at mother, who has gone stark white.

I stand up, knocking over a glass of wine. It's me against my father, who has easily thirty pounds on me and is about four inches taller. Peeta lunges at mother, who screams and falls to the ground. I manage to grab him by the shoulders and try to pull him back, but he's much stronger than I've ever given him credit for.

I don't have time to think of the situation I'm in, I just act, something I've always done. Peeta throws me aside like a tree branch and I jump at him again, missing his shoulder by half an inch. Mother gets up, recovering very quickly, and tries to look him in the eye. "Peeta…" she says, voice shaking badly. Everyone is standing away from the table, eyes wide. Why is nobody but mother and I doing anything?

I duck and grab Peeta's arm, putting mine through his and am surprised to find that I have thrown him to the ground.

"When did you get that strong?" Matilda asks, suddenly next to me. I don't even have time to feel grateful for her recovering enough to help me, because father has a go at mother again.

This time it's not me to stop him, but Tilda. She jumps on his back like some sort of animal and locks her legs around him, arms around his neck, jerking back his head. Peeta lets out a howl and then, just as quickly as it started, falls to the ground, unconscious, right on top of Tilda. I jerk her out. She rubs her arm.

"What just happened?" she asks.

Mother leans against the wall as two red-headed girls in white tunics run out from the kitchen. "Put him in the infirmary. Now." They obey and half-carry, half-drag Peeta to a room down the hall. "Right before the war started, after the second Hunger Games, your father was taken as a prisoner. They injected bits of trackerjacker venom into him, altering his memories and making him go insane, unsure of what was real and what the Capitol had forced him to believe. The main lie was that I was a mutation whose sole purpose was to destroy him, and he believed that whole heartedly."

"It's the familiar surroundings," Effie suddenly says, shaken up. "This track, the road to the Capitol, it hasn't changed. It'll only get worse when we get to the Capitol."

"Then I am mentor alone," mother says sharply.

Nobody says anything, and mother makes a go to the infirmary. I grab her arm. "He wants to kill you, Katniss," I say in a flinty voce.

Mother raises an eyebrow. "Katniss?" she asks, slightly bemused.

I don't answer, but something in the air has changed. The respect I've always had for my mother has changed to a mutual understanding of a need to survive. Any need to call her "mother" has evaporated.

She sits on a chair, still shaking. Tilda takes her hand, trying to comfort her and looking at me with a mixed expression, like I've crossed some sort of line. Angry at her, I storm to my bathroom, turning on the shower and standing under the hot water for half an hour before I hear a shuffling in my bathroom. Having spent practically all my life listening and studying noises, I recognize this noise too well.

"Hey sweetheart," I say, not even making sure it's here.

"How'd you know it was me?" she asks, startled.

I smile to myself, shaking the water out of my hair. "What are you doing here?" I ask.

I can hear her sit on the ground, sighing. "I just wanted to be with somebody I know is stable." I laugh once but it has no humor in it. "It seems like everyone out there is emotionally insane."

"Yeah don't count me out of that circle," I remark. "Come here," I say. I can feel her hesitate and slowly, she comes in the shower with me.

"When did this happen?" she asks suddenly, arms around me, head on my chest, letting the steaming water hit our skin.

"When did what happen?"

"_This_. When was it okay to do _this_?" she demands.

I try to shake the feelings out of my head and concentrate on what she's saying. "I don't know. It just sorda happened didn't it? _This _didn't happen until we found out our lives were being cut short."

She sighs again, and I find a button on the wall. Pressing it, it releases a slow, beautiful song full of hope and peace. She smiles, not opening her eyes. I take her hand and twirl her around, and she comes back to me, our bodies fitting perfectly next to each other. We dance slowly together for a while until she gets on her tip toes and kisses me sweetly.

"Finnick!" a voice calls, and slowly, her lips come off of mine.

"You should go, she breathes, water droplets sticking to her eyelashes. I kiss her one last time, starting at her neck. She shivers. "Or maybe you could stay." I chuckle once. "Bye," she whispers.

I through on a green bathrobe and jump out into the hallway of the train. Mother is standing against the wall. "Have you seen Matilda?" she asks.

"Uh…Tilda? No," I lie, running my fingers through my hair.

To my surprise, she smiles. "Then why do you have a mark of lip stick on your cheek?" she asks. Feeling my face go crimson, I rub at my face furiously. "Well, we'll be at the Capitol by tomorrow morning," mother says.

"Kay." She turns to leave, and I feel like I should say something else. "Katniss?" Slowly, she turns. "When was the last time he had an episode?" I ask.

She blinks. "When you were born."

"Why then?" I demand.

"I don't know," Katniss says, biting her lip. "I guess you look so much like me that he…flipped. He forgot it the next morning. But I was alone. Haymitch was there right after you were born and bundled up, and fath- Peeta had collapsed on the floor. I was freaking out, but you were my first priority."

"And Prim?"'

"Well, she was only two. She was spending the day with Haymitch in the town because I had fallen ill that morning. Why are you asking?" she asks, tilting her head.

"Did he have an attack when Prim was born?" I ask, ignoring her question.

She hesitates. "No. I was so scared when I delivered her, but he was smiling and holding my hand."

I nod and turn and walk to my room, with no intention of coming out.

The next morning, I'm awoken with the stretching of the stopping train. Cursing to myself, I pull on the first pair of clothes I find, which are again lying on my dresser waiting for me. Avery is the only one sitting at the table when I groggily walk into the kitchen. "They all wanted to see the Capitol," she says, pouring me a glass of orange juice.

"Even Katniss?" I ask, finding that hard to believe.

She shakes her head. "She hasn't woken up yet, I believe." I join Matilda at the end of the train, who's looking out the window in disbelief, and lace my arms around her waist. I notice, once again, we are matching. Me in a light green colored shirt and her in tight black pants and a matching color top. I wonder if they are playing us as a team, more so than they did mother and father.

The city is huge, with more lit up buildings than I have ever seen. The streets are filled with the most bizarre looking people, all with different colored hair and surgically engineered features, all waving and cheering us on.

"Make them like you," I hear mother's voice say behind me. She walks out of the bedroom, her hair braided again down her back, dressed in a burnt orange dress, looking like she's on fire. "You never know how many of them are rich."

Slowly, I force a smile on my face, the most charming I can manage. People say I have my father's smile, a smile that could make people do whatever I want them to do. Matilda smiles shyly and waves slowly, looking very tiny and petite standing in front of me. I refuse to take my hand off of her though, I feel like this is important. In it's own way, it's a rebellion against the Capitol. It's showing them that no matter what it takes, we are planning on coming out of the arena together, and the Capitol people seem to love it.

Mother slowly walks into the window, and it takes a moment before the people realize who it is. They all wave and take pictures, but she doesn't react. She leans against the wall and glares at them all, and I think she's rebelling in her own way, by not reacting. I think she's done reacting and fighting back, she's just going to openly show her hatred towards these people. She's leaving the smiling to us. If Peeta ever recovers, I wonder if he will join her or use his charm as a weapon. Either way, he could be deadly.

Slowly, we pull up into the Capitol and they escort us quickly to a grey, steal building where they say they will transform us for the parade tonight. Tilda gives me a parting glance and walks with the man down the hall into another room. I join Avery in a tall, airy room with a wall full of long windows that look out into the city. She pushes a button and disappears into a smaller room down the hall, and surprises me by returning with her hair down to her chest, and she's replaced her formal, tight clothes with a loose, blue top and black pants, and a tint of gold eyeliner. Just as she walks in, food falls for a tube in the back of the room. We eat silently, Avery with her legs tucked to the side, her hair draped over her shoulder.

"So I assume you already know what me and my assistant, Gavner, are going for," she says, sipping from a mug of coffee.

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Setting Matilda and I up as a team."

She sets the mug down and nods. "Right."

"But why?" I ask, knowing my own reasons for doing this but not hers.

"When I saw you yesterday, I knew that you hated the Capitol. I knew you wanted revenge for what they did to your mother. I'm only here to enforce that, maybe not against you, but against the other Districts again. This is getting tiring, don't you think? Having to repeat all of this twice?" she asks, and I see a woman when I look at her, not a Capitol doll. A real woman, with a life, with a feelings, with a goal in life. "They say you should learn from the past, but it doesn't seem we have, does it?"

"Presenting us as a team could always make the Districts think we're just repeating what my parents did," I say.

"Ah," she says, smiling. "But you two know that you're both coming out this time." She squeezes my hand. "Come on."

Avery orders me to lay my clothes on a chair by the door and stand up. She smiles when she sees my expression. "It's just me, Finnick. I don't judge." She winks, making me blush even more. Reluctantly, I do as she says. Again, her eyes travel up and done my body, and I can practically see the camera taking pictures inside her head. Measuring my body, memorizing every crook and wrinkle on my arms and hands, the way my muscles flex when I get uncomfortable, and what colors compliment my skin tone best.

Finally, she throws me a robe, not saying a word.

"What are you dress me up as, a coal miner?" I ask dryly. She leans her head back and looks at me.

"You wish," Avery teases. "No. You're going to make a very big entrance though, I can guarantee that. Sit." I sit on an uncomfortable bed as she mixes some sort of sour-smelling concoction.

"What's this?" I ask, as she mixes the thick cream with a brush and goes to rub it on my face.

"This," she says, a little impatiently, "Is why you're father can't grow a beard."

I have no time to answer before she lathers my face in it. It sizzles at first, but then relaxes, leaving only a tingling sense behind. She then shaves my face, even though there's not much to shave off. Ordering me to sit down, she plucks my eyebrows and then makes all my nails look like something out of a magazine, every single one is straight and shiny.

I drift in an out of consciousness as she plays with my hair, trimming it in some spots and coloring it in others. She assists me in putting on what appears to be a plain black suit with a dark purple tie.

"This is going to help me make an entrance?" I ask, looking down at it. She pushes me on the shoulder.

"Shut up for a second." Avery bites her lip and stares at me for a minute before nodding to herself and rolling a long mirror over.

My blonde, sandy colored hair, which was almost at my shoulders, is now cut short and neat, the front sort of messy, with a bright red tint to it. My eyes pop against the darkness of the suit, and I seem taller than usual.

"Move your arm up," Avery orders. When I look at her, confused, she holds my arm up for me and I gasp. The whole suit erupts in a purple-blue glow, like I'm at the bottom of a flame, and the end of the jacket bursts into flames. When I set my hand back done, the flames stop, but the glow continues.

"Avery!" I exclaim. "You're a genius!" She smiles and gives me a shove out of the room.

"Remember, you're a team," she says, walking me down the hallway.

"Do I kiss her?" I find myself asking, really looking for a play-by-play of what I should do.

"Whatever feels right," she replies.

We ride down an elevator and arrive in a huge, open theatre full of chariots. It's easy to tell the Districts apart, each costume reflects that very well. I don't really have time to study the other tributes, because a burst of purple appears in front of me.

Matilda's hair is braided up, like some goddess, a bow and arrow slung over her shoulder. She's dressed in a tight, strapless, and rather skimpy black dress with heels that match my tie. A piece of her blonde hair is died red, and it falls as ringlet in front of her eye. She's glowing as well.

"Matilda you look amazing!" I exclaim, and I can see some of the other tributes give her looks. A particularly big guy is eyeing her down, and I take my arm and pull her closer to me.

"Oh I almost forgot! This!" Avery exclaims, and pulls out my mother's old mockingjay pin. It's not shiny anymore and has dirt on the inside ring, and it's definitely been through a war, but it's still beautiful. She clips it on to my jacket where people can see it. Avery walks off to join the other designers, all are eyeing her enviously. Even before the Games have begun, we've created a spark.

We're hoisted up into our chariots and the anthem of Panem plays around us. I try to ignore the cameras that are so obviously looking right at us, both glowing blue. Tilda takes my hand and tries to lift up her arm but I pull it down. "Not yet," I whisper into her ear. She frowns. "Let them warm up first."

The horses move along and the crowd is cheering for the first Districts, and then we pull out into the town circle and begin parading around. Slowly, I take Tilda's hand. She seems unsure of what to do at first but we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the screens all around us, and she looks stunning. A sudden smile fills her face and she winks and flips her hair for the crowd. They love her, so charming and yet so mysterious. She blows a kiss to the men and they catch it, as if it's a real object, and she reaches out her hand for the younger boys who look up at her. I lift up our hands so fire spreads all over our bodies, and force a smile on my face. The girls pretend to faint, making me laugh.

"They love you," I say as we round the corner.

"No. They love us," she says, looking up at me and batting her eyes so the crowd gives a loud, "_Aw!"_ Pretending that the crowd isn't there, I lean my head and give her a kiss right on the lips, and she gets on her tip toes to reach me. The crowd reacts instantly, cheering us on. Matilda breaks away as if embarrassed and we continue through the town, smiling and blowing kisses for people that want to see us die.

Eventually, we reach the end of our journey. President Pivett is standing high above us, in a podium. He's young, with dark hair and shocking blue eyes, dressed in a crisp black suit. Is it just me, or do his eyes fix on mine before he waves to the crowd and smiles coldly?

"Hello, citizens of Panem," he says, his voice booming. Everybody stops talking, and the only noises is our costumes sizzling. "Tributes," he continues, gesturing to us. A couple nod back. "And though this may seem like an odd year for the Hunger Games, I believe that we have mustered a very competitive, challenging young group of girls and boys." He looks at me as he says _challenging_, and I smile at him. "And all I have to say, ladies and gentlemen, is let the 76th Hunger Games begin and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" The crowd roars its approval at these words, and the Pivett smiles before sitting back down. The chariot gives one more lurching roar and we go back in the circle where we started.

When we step off onto solid ground and Effie runs over. "That went better than expected," she says. Tilda smiles at her.

We take another elevator up to the pent house. Tilda gasps as we step inside. It's huge, bigger than my house back in District 12. A wall is full of windows that look out into the lit-up city, and the walls are deep sea blue, full of paintings of different things.

"Hey mom, look," I say, pointing to a painting hanging next to the TV. "It's a Mockingjay."

Slowly, she reaches out and touches it, no expression in her eyes. Then suddenly, she collapses, shaking and sobbing. I react first, kneeling down and holding her in my lap like a lost puppy. "I know," I say, thinking of Peeta. "I know. But crying isn't going to make it any better. It's not going to bring him back."

She nods, gathering herself together and standing up. "I've gone through this once before," she says, more to herself than to anyone else. "I really don't want to go through this again."

"I know," I echo. Tilda helps her to her room and I can hear them talking in hushed voices until the light goes out and Tilda walks back out.

Avery walks in, beaming. "That was amazing!" she exclaims, hugging me. "You two are brilliant together. Everyone loved you!"

"I think I've already got a few people lined up to be sponsors!" Effie exclaims. I try to seem enthusiastic. Effie and Avery file out, leaving only Tilda and I alone in the living room. She sorts through the contents in a drawer and gasps.

"It's like they want us to see it," she whispers, and holds up a black video tape. It says nothing on the front except for the number 74 on the front.

"You don't think it's…" I begin.

"What else could it be, Finnick?" she asks. "Hold on I'll be right back." She runs to her room and comes out three minutes later in yoga pants and a loose, V-neck shirt. Her braids have made her hair curly and the white-blonde hair falls to her waist in soft ringlets. I take off my shirt, leaving just the white tank top underneath, and she puts the tape in.

"Are you shaking?" she asks, surprised.

"No," I lie, and take my hand away from her shoulder. She looks at me for a moment and then pecks me on the cheek and grabs my hand.

"Listen, I'm here for you. And whatever is on this tape, remember that's it already happened," she says.

"When did you become so motherly?" I ask, putting my arm back over her. She pulls a blanket around us and nestles into the crook of my arm, pressing the PLAY button.

The tape starts with a sudden burst of flames, and then shows the reaping from the other Districts. All the tributes look young and ready to fight, except for one young, dark skinned girl from District 11, who can't be older than twelve. Then we reach my District 12, and a younger, sharper looking Effie says "Primrose Everdeen." There's a moments silence and a young, blonde girl who looks remarkably like my mother steps out from a small group of girls, pale.

Then, suddenly, "Prim? Prim! I volunteer! I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE." I feel Tilda clench next to me, holding on to me. A girl who must be mother steps out. She's beautiful, her face is glowing, her shiny brown hair is braided neatly down her back, her grey eyes alight with life.

"That's the dress I wore to the reaping!" Tilda yelps, and indeed she's right. The blue dress is identical to the one she wore.

Prim pleads with her big sister not to go, but Katniss shakes her away and I recognize a very handsome, very large Gale come out of the crowd and grab Prim, holding her tightly. You can see the love in his eyes when he looks at Katniss, and Tilda must see it too, because she bites her lip. He looks at Katniss and says something, but his words are lost.

Katniss walks to the stage and Effie draws the next name. "Peeta Mellark!" you can actually see the dread pass through Katniss's eyes as the name is drawn. Peeta's brothers look at me as if looking at him through a coffin, and he walks to the stage, blonde hair slicked back, blue eyes looking at mother while she tries to wriggle away. They shake hands and the scene changes to the interviews, were mother basks in flames and looking simply stunning and radiant. Then Peeta comes up and proclaims his undying love for Katniss but that alas, they may never be together.

Then we're in the Games, in the arena. The cameras hardly focus anywhere but Katniss, who has seem to of stolen the show. One moment, she's killing the Career tributes, and Peeta who tagged along with them, with a tracker jacker nest, and the next she's kneeling next to that little girl, crying and singing the Meadow Song to her as she slowly slips away.

The Games begin to tell a love story from that point on. The Gamemakers saying that two tributes from the same District can win, and mother calling Peeta's name in the darkness. She finds him half-dead by a lake and slowly coaxes him back to health. They kiss a lot, more than I've ever seen them kiss in real life.

Then the famous berry scene, the climax of the story, the point where everything changed. Katniss pulls of lethal berries, Nightlocks, and hands a couple to Peeta. Unsure, he takes them and holds her hand.

"One…two…" mother says, "three." And they tip their heads back. Then both are proclaimed victors and the tape ends.

We sit in silence for a moment

"I don't want to sleep alone," she whispers, her eyes looking up at me.

Without saying a word, our lips meet. Slowly, she untangles herself from the couch and tangles herself into my lap. I faintly hear the thud of her shirt hit the floor, and I vaguely wonder if mother hears us, but I decide to push that all way. If I die tomorrow, I want her, this beauty in front of me, to know that I love her in a way that no words can express. Tomorrow might bring horrendous, frightening things that will scare my little kitten, but nothing can harm us now, not at this moment. The way my lips fit perfectly around hers, the way her cold hands tangle in my hair and the back of my neck, the way she pulls away for a moment, unsure, and then quickly jumps back in.

"I'll never leave you," she whispers, closing her eyes as my lips travel up her neck. In the moonlight, she looks like nothing I've ever seen before.

But the pain she makes me feel at that moment makes me want to cry. Pain so real and so unexpected that I inhale sharply. She may never leave me, but eventually I will have to leave her. I've already come to the realization that I'm going to have to die to keep her alive, and I'm surprisingly okay of that. It doesn't bother me that the Capitol will be victorious in hurting my parents. Sure, Katniss and Peeta will cry for a while, maybe, but they'll get over it. After all, they have Primrose to whip them back into shape. The only person who I know deep in my heart will truly miss me is wrapped in my arms. The only person I truly care about.

"Don't Finnick," she whispers, taking my face in her hands and looking me in the eye fiercely. "Don't die for me. It's not worth it."

I've gone from pain to anger. "How could you say that?" I say, clearly hurt. "How could ever think of saying that, Matilda?" she winces at the sound of her name, and I can tell she feels uncomfortable when I use it. She's not used to it. "You are worth everything. Every ounce, every breath. Don't you _ever_ say that."

She's furious now, pushing me on the chest and standing up. She's deliciously tempting, half-clothed, her hair wavy from the braids. I notice a heavy downpour outside. "Me? What am I worth, Finnick? I am an okay huntress, and I can kinda cook. My father never talks to me, doesn't even look at me, and I have no money to ever hope to support a family. What am I worth? Of what value could I possibly be to you?"

"You're everything to me! Everything, dammit!" I yell, standing up and using my full height to tower over her. She doesn't back down. "And I thought I could try to prove it to you for once!" I say, gesturing to the couch, feeling like such a guy for saying that but not taking it back. She just shakes her head.

I think I hear a door open, but neither of us look at the source of the noise. "Why is this so hard for you to understand?" I boom, and she turns and runs out the door, tears streaming down her face.

"I hope you aren't just going to stand there," a voice says. Mother is standing in the door way, arms crossed. "I thought I taught you better than that. Go." Without questioning her, I bolt out of the door, calling her name and trying to find her. The elevator doesn't seem to go fast enough, so I run down the stairs, taking them two at a time, until I'm outside.

Why isn't this door locked? I wonder vaguely, and then see two designers getting into a car. Running down the block, the rain hitting my skin like tiny bullets.

"Matilda! Matilda! TILDA! MATILDA!" I roar, completely in hysterics. Fortunately for me, the strange Capitol people don't recognize me without my flames.

Just when I'm about to turn and go the other way, I see a flash of blonde hair. I don't even get a look at the figure, I just pull it towards me and kiss it passionately. She kisses me back, and I don't pull away until I need air.

"I love you," she whispers, tracing patterns on my chest and flitting her eyes to mine.

How long have I longed to hear those three words? How long have I waited to hold her like this, even if we are both shivering because of the rain? How long have I waited to see her body tangled in mine?

"Ditto," I whisper.


	9. Chapter 9

I wake up with her head on my chest, pillows on the floor, sunshine filling the room, and the smell of bacon wafting on my face. She rolls over, instead nestling in my arm, but she hasn't woken up from a nightmare or spoken in her sleep all night long, and neither have I.

The clock on the wall says eight thirty, and I can hear murmured conversations in the dining room. Slowly, I get up and get changed, throwing on the first clothes I can find, sure that Avery will change me later. Today is one of the three training days.

Katniss is leaning forward, in deep conversation with Avery, their voices hushed. As soon as I walk in, their voices stop and they look at me.

"What?" I ask, defensive.

"We're discussing what you two are going to wear today," Avery says smoothly, although I know she's lying.

"I promised him I'd go down and visit him today," Katniss says, standing up. I don't need to ask who she's referring to. Obviously, she'd want to be with him.

"Are you sure that's safe?" I ask.

"He's unconscious," she answers sharply, and then softens. "My advice for today is to not show them your full strength, leave that for a surprise in the arena. Do not shoot an arrow until your private session with the Gamemakers, understand? The same goes for Matilda. She's small, let her climb things. Do the boring stuff like camouflage and knot tying. It might just keep you alive. You will have the advantage in the arena, trust me." She gives me an awkward hug before leaving.

"She sure knows a lot that she never told me," I mutter, sitting gruffly at the table and piling food on my plate.

Avery smiles wearily. "She's been through this twice, Finnick, and she has your father to worry about. Cut her some slack."

Matilda walks in just as I'm finishing, scratching her head and squinting in the bright sunlight. "Why didn't you wake me up?" she demands, sitting across from me. I notice she's wearing one of my t-shirts, three sizes too big for her, and sweat pants. She looks beautiful.

"You look cute when you're sleeping," I answer, forgetting Avery is there. Tilda blushes and looks down at her food.

"Are we going to be matching again today?" she asks Avery.

Avery winks and stands up. "Finnick, meet me in your room when you're done, I'm going to go get the clothes."

Awkward silence fills the room. "Look, last night…" her voice trails off.

"Was the best night I've ever had?" I ask quietly. She peers up at me. "I better go meet Avery. See you in a bit." I lean across the table and kiss her forehead before walking into my room, surprised to find it spotless.

"Don't look at me," Avery says, holding up her hands in surrender. "It was like this."

"How'd you know it was messy before?" I ask with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes as if this is obvious and unzips a bag, pulling out an outfit I can't see. "She's beautiful, you know," she says as she tailors me. "Hardly needed any makeup."

"What do I do, Avery?" I ask suddenly, desperate. She looks up at me, not needing me to explain.

"What do you feel like you should do?"

I let that sink in and contemplate it for a while, never coming to a resolution. By eleven, Avery is done with me. The outfit I'm wearing is one I recognize. The same one my father wore to the training. I look at Avery, eyebrows raised.

"Just a little reminder of what your father did," she whispers, and strokes my cheek before walking out.

Matilda is dressed in mother's outfit, her hair braided again down her back, a few strands dangling in her face. I brush one away and she shivers at my touch. Silently, like we're moving in the forest, we ride down the elevator to the training center.

I repeat what mother told me to Tilda, but her eyes seem distant. The other tributes are almost all there, standing around, some cowering and some pacing around, ready to grab the most leather weapons. All look at us as we walk in. I suddenly know what to do, what angle to play up, how to make the audience love us and start a rebellion before we fight to the death: I grab Tilda's hand. It's such a contrast to the other tributes, who are standing as far away from each other as possible, that I want to laugh.

Tilda looks up at me, clearly startled at this simple gesture, and then squeezes my hand.

A dark skinned, tiny lady tells us the different probabilities of our deaths in the arena, but I don't pay attention. The Gamemakers are sitting on a platform above us, and all their eyes are focused on me. I smile and wave, and they blink in surprise. Evidently, I've developed Peeta's ability to charm a crowd with a smile. Tilda snorts beside me. The other tributes are shifting around, eager to get to the weapons. The Careers are still together, still a team, even though it's been so many years. I wonder if any of their parents were victors.

And then I see her, standing behind everyone, arms crossed.

"Ginnie!" I whisper, as soon as the lady let's us go. She turns, not seeming at all surprised to see me. How have I missed her?"

"Finnick," she says evenly, nods once, then leaves, going to the station made for reflexes.

"She's hiding herself," Tilda murmurs. I look at her. "She doesn't want people to notice her, and her designers have done a good job of that." She gestures with a nod to her outfit, a tight, plain black workout suit that seems to blend into the background. It still doesn't manage to hide that unfading beauty of hers though.

"Why would she do that?" I ask.

Tilda rolls her eyes. "You play it stealthily, very quietly, hiding behind people's backs or right under their noses, and they forget you're even there. You can walk home a Victor buy killing the last two people. Unlike us, who have caused so much commotion and talk. They're going to come after us first." She looks at the Careers, who are throwing spears right into the dummies stomachs. I shiver and take her hand again, guiding her somewhere far from them. To my surprise, she laughs.

"What?" I ask, defensive.

"Finn, the Games haven't even started yet and you're already trying to protect me." She lets go of my hand. "Please."

Falling silent, I let her guide me to the camouflage station. I could do very well at this, but my eyes keep darting over to the impressive set of bows and arrows. One of the Gamemakers seems to see this and nods me on, silently telling me to go there.

"No," Tilda orders sharply, looking at the Gamemaker. "Listen to your mother."

Sighing, I turn my full attention to my arm, which is supposed to look like the bark of a tree but looks more like muddy water. Cursing under my breath, I wash it off and storm to the knot tying area, where the instructor looks pleased to have someone. Concentrating on tying the perfect knot for fishing keeps my mind off the bow, and Tilda leaves me alone for a while, going off in a separate direction. I can't stop my eyes from darting to her every few minutes, though, and I have to agree with her. Some of those Careers are three times her size, and they know how to use the most deadly of the weapons, and sometimes that includes their hands. It doesn't ease my fears that the boys are looking at her like she's a doll standing in a store window, and I clench my fists and tighten the knot I'm working on.

I sense a presence nearby just as I'm finishing the first knot, but don't look up, determined to keep interactions between the tributes and I to a minimum. But my guy instincts take over, and I look up, suddenly hoping it's someone I can pick a fight with, and sigh with relief when I see the dark hair. I gape at her as her fingers fly across the string, making the hardest knot with ease in a quarter of the time it took me to even understand how to make it.

"Wow," I breathe when she finishes, and the trainer is looking impressed as well.

Ginnie looks at me, unsmiling. Her eyes are framed in black eyeliner, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, giving her the impression of a cat, a very lethal cat. "I grew up in District 4. It was either you learned how to make the knots and catch the fish or you starved." She tosses the string behind her and walks along, carefully avoiding the Careers. Matilda narrows her eyes at me as I follow, but doesn't say anything.

She pretends to ignore my presence while she bends over and picks up a bow and arrow. Then she asks me, "Teach me how to shoot."

"Sorry?"

Ginnie rolls her eyes. "How am I going to catch food, with my bare hands? They," she nods at the big tributes. "might be able to, they're monsters. But I prefer to kill my food the right way."

"If you're lucky they'll throw us in a fish tank," I tease. A flicker of a smile appears on her face.

"Teach me how to shoot," she repeats.

"Can't," I say simply.

"Why not? You're Katniss Everdeen's son and you're telling me you can't even bring down a rabbit?"

"I'm not supposed to shoot anything," I say.

I realize how close we are. Her breath smells like peppermints. "Why? Are you dangerous?" the way she says the last word makes me think she's not referring to me with a bow and arrow.

"Hey Finnick! I need help with this!" Tilda calls, and Ginny gets off of her tip-toes and walks off.

Tilda doesn't speak to me until lunch.

"I didn't do anything!" I exclaim, exasperated, as we're about to sit down at a table, but all she does is roll her eyes. I get a sudden string of inspiration from a quick glance up at the Gamemakers and lean down and peck her on the lips. Tilda looks confused for a second and then sits down, ignoring the fact that all the other tributes and the Gamemakers are looking at us, mouths open.

I sense the air change after lunch, the Gamemakers are getting bored, and everyone seems to sense this. The Careers are showing off more now, straining themselves more and more. An idea suddenly forms in my head and I hide a smile.

I spend the next few hours climbing. Artificial trees much like the ones in 12 and metal bars are made for climbing, and I wonder if they modeled these after Katniss's climbing expertise, but I dismiss the thought. The Capitol wants nothing to do with her, they've made that quite obvious.

Just climbing the branches and jumping down becomes tedious after a while, and slowly, I start doing different tricks I picked up in the woods. Being a skilled hunter means being able to climb, and I mastered that quite easily. Tilda and I would climb to the peak of the trees and look out to see if any game was nearby and if it wasn't, we would become reckless. We progressively start doing tricks, flipping off branches and onto other ones, trying not to make a noise.

Who would've thought I could use those skills to taunt other children?

I flip off the branch impressively, farther and more graceful than I've ever done before, and the Careers leer at me. One of them tries to climb up, but falls after five feet. I snort and climb farther up, hanging back from my feet so I'm in a back bend. I even see Ginnie smile.

"I thought your mother said not to show off," an amused voice says. Tilda peaks out from behind a branch, not much higher than I, a small smile on her lips.

"I'm just testing my natural abilities," I retort. She laughs, leans down, and kisses me. I momentarily forget where I am and go to wrap my arms around her, and fall onto the mat underneath us, breathless.

"Loverboy," a girl with brown, curly hair says, rolling her eyes.

"Much to your disappointment," Tilda retorts. I notice she hasn't gotten up from sitting on my lap, her arms around my neck. In fact, she pecks me before getting up, playfully pushing my chest.

We're dismissed just a little while later. "Who is this Tilda?" I ask her when we're in the elevator.

Her romantic mood hasn't diminished, she smiles and tugs at my collar. "Why?" she breathes. "Do you not like her?"

I smile and pull her towards me. "Do I look like I don't?" Just as our lips meet, the elevator opens and Katniss is standing right there, arms crossed.

For the first time, we don't jump apart. I put my arm around her hip and walk her into the living room, in unusually high spirits.

"So, trees?" Katniss asks, quirking an eyebrow. She's been crying, I can tell, and she hasn't slept.

Neither of us saying anything, and the silence builds and builds. Katniss seems to refuse to break it, just sitting there with a tight, fake smile on her face. Eventually, Tilda says, "I'm going to shower," and leaves the room. I wonder if she's set it up so Katniss and I have to talk to each other.

She's still bent on keeping the silence, and I, having her same sense of stubbornness, sit back and cross my arms. I guess Katniss is the bigger person here, because eventually she says, "He's not getting any better."

Something pops inside of me. I stand up, using my full height for intimidation. "Well, how is he supposed to? How is he supposed to be getting better when we're locking him up in the same place he went insane? Send him home, Katniss! Can't you see nothing good is coming out of him staying here?" I yell, and I see Tilda stick her head out of the door. Katniss looks like I smacked her across the face. "I know you want to believe that he will come around, but let's face it, it's been a good twenty years and he still hasn't gotten over it."

Not knowing what good I could possibly do here, I march to my room and slam the door with all my might behind me. I stare at the room, thinking of the damage I've caused out there, and punch the wall, forming a big hole. I'm vaguely aware of the blood pouring out of my knuckles, the pulsing pain, as I throw things around the room, cursing the Capitol with any foul language I've ever learned. Fancy plates are lined on shelves, and I take them and throw them against the floor.

I don't know how long my rage lasts, but when I have nothing else to break, nothing to throw, the door slowly opens and Tilda walks in, looking like she's intruded on something. Gingerly, she takes my hand and drags me to the sink in the bathroom, washing it off with warm water, and neatly bandages it. She throws everything off my bed and makes my lie down, and then proceeds to clean up the broken plates, never once saying a word. I think I see a tear fall on the floor at one point, but can't think for the life of me why she's crying.

It's only when the room is spotless and she's sitting at the edge of my bed does she speak. "I've never told you why Gale and I aren't close." When I don't say anything, she proceeds, telling me how he yelled and cursed at her for wondering why she didn't have a mother. It makes sense, the way she looks at him like he's a murderer, in a way he is. He murdered her childhood, he killed the bond the two should've shared.

"I see the same thing happening between you and your mother," she says.

I quirk an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I think you take for granted how vulnerable she is. You believe she's so strong and powerful, and in some ways she is, and she was once strong and powerful, but she's tired now, Finnick. She's exhausted from all this. Don't make the mistake that I did."

"What was your mistake."

"I didn't forgive. I should've forgiven him, I should have tried at least, but I never gave him the chance, and he never gave me the chance to try. Forgive her, she's just tired of the war that's raging around her, she doesn't need you to make it worse."

"I've never been good at being nice," I mutter, and she smiles. "That's always been Prim's job."

Tilda kisses me, leaning on top of me and gently running her fingers up my face. "Good night," she whispers, and leaves, leaving the scent of cherries behind her.

I know sleep isn't coming to get me, and I give up eventually and get up, throwing on a pair of clothes. Peacking into Tilda's room, I can hear her usual mumbling and light snores, and leave, not wanting to wake her. Katniss has fallen asleep on the couch, and I look at her. She looks younger in her sleep, not so worn down, more like the young, radiant girl in the arena. I brush a piece of hair from her face.

Peeta creeps into my mind, along with a sharp pang of guilt. If I were going crazy, I'd want someone there with me, someone to remind me that I was sane. Katniss has tried, but she's not doing any good. Something tugs me out the door and I press the button on the elevator labeled with an _i_. Not entirely sure why, I press the button and ride the elevator down, to the middle floor, and sure enough, it's the infirmary.

It's a long, clean, sterile smelling floor with dim lights. I almost consider leaving before a nurse walks out of the door.

"Yes?" she asks in a sharp voice, as if I've interrupted her night shift. She has mint-colored hair and lilac colored eyes.

"Um, I'm Finnick Mellark, can I see my father? Peeta?" I ask.

She raises a blonde eyebrow. "You're telling me that your daddy is Peeta Mellark?" Her eyes widen in realization when she looks at me carefully. "You're the boy on fire," she whispers.

"Yes," I say, grabbing it.

"He's in room six," she says, and watches me as I walk down the hallway.

Peeta's room is comfy, and not so terrifyingly perfect as the rest of the hospital. He's lying in a long bed, various patches attached to his arms, making the monitor by his bed beep and whirl. I hate the sound, and resist the strong urge to tear the plug out of the wall to shut it up.

Pulling up a chair, I sit by his bedside, feeling like an idiot. Why did I think I could help him? It's like pushing against a brick wall, you can try and try and try, but you will never make a dent in it.

"Hey dad," I say, desperately wanting to stop the sound of machine buzzing in my head. He doesn't respond, but I wasn't really expecting him too. They've obviously put him under some medicine that knocks him out, because he'd be too much of a threat if he were awake. I can feel it wearing out though, his heart beat is faster, his fingers twitching randomly, searching for a throat to grab that isn't there.

"Remember when I was nine and you bought me that new bike, and I wanted to take it down the street?" I take his hand in mine. "And you told me not to do that because the road was too steep and I'd get thrown off? And I did it anyway, and I fell and broke my ankle, and while I was lying in bed for four weeks you hardly left my side, and you stayed and held my hand?" I have to mask the tears behind my voice. "Well, know I'm staying with you and holding your hand, because you're hurt."

Maybe it's my imagination, but his hand squeezes mine.

I don't remember falling asleep, but a hand jerks me awake from a terrible dream about the ocean taking me under. I look up and find the nurse's fake purple eyes, and find them full of tears. Confused, I snap my head towards Peeta and find his hand has gone still.

"No," I say urgently, getting up. "Dammit!" I yell as the machine gives a deadly long beep. "Dammit, no! You swore you'd never leave her, you bastard!" I scream, thinking of Katniss. "You always told me never to break promises! Why are you leaving her? No! No!" The nurse tries to comfort me with a pat on the shoulder, but I smack it away, a little harder than I meant too and she goes flying to the floor, but I don't care. Anger and betrayel fill my body and I throw the monitor to the ground with one hand, yelling every foul name I can think of. Eventually, anger turns to sadness and I fall to the ground, crying and saying, "No, no, no, no…Oh God no."

A big, burly doctor comes in and grabs my shoulder. "There's nothing we can do, son. The shock of the hijacking got the best of him. Go to your apartment." I think he feels sorry for me, but I don't listen to him.

"No…"

I don't know how long I sit there, lying on the floor, head in between my knees, not able to cry, not able to breathe, not able to care. This is so unfair, so terribly and coldly unfair, the whole mess of it. After everything, everything he's been through, there's this, the cold end to it all.

When my mind starts whirring again, my senses still refuse to kick in, I'm still unable to move, and nobody has made an effort to help me. If they have, I'm so far gone that I can't even respond.

Where do we go after death? I begin to wonder. I always thought we just….we just _died_, but what if there is something out there, something bigger than this, and there's no hurt, there's no pain. I'd like to think that there is, but something about a cold, dry sleep, never knowing what is going on around you, is more comforting than the prospect of being in a beautiful place for eternity. After all, eternity is a very, very long time. What do you even _do_ for eternity? Yeah, sleeping forever is a nicer option than living for eternity.


	10. Chapter 10

Standing at the edge of a shore, a beautiful shore with white sand, clear water, and a pink sky, and looking out at a tiny, cute boat bopping up and down on the ocean. Somebody is one it, somebody is crying for help, but I feel no need to even wonder what is going on. I just stand there, looking for a while down at the water licking my feet, and then back up at the boat, almost wanting to laugh at the person who so obviously needs help.

And then I am standing at the edge of a cliff, a sudden rush of panic inside of my veins, adrenaline pumping in my heart.

_If you jumped now, you could end it. End all the pain and suffering you will feel in the arena._

The voice is not my own, but it lives inside my head, and I recognize it instantly. It's the deepest, darkest part of my mind I never like to listen to, but always has some pretty easy ideas, propositions always made to just jump out the pain the easy way, and it always appears at the worst of times. I stare down at the bottomless abyss of water underneath the cliff, seeming to open up to swallow me in.

_Jump, Matilda. _

The voice has taken the form of Finnick, really wanting to torture me. I can feel my body lean towards the edge, my heart wanting to do it and my brain trying frantically to create reason, but also listening to the voice, hungering for its suggestions.

_If you love me, you'll jump._

I want to say that I do, I do love you, but I can't. I love you, Finnick, but not like this. If you loved me, you would want me to run away from here, back into your arms.

And then he's standing next to me, so real I wonder if I reached out, if I could touch him, but he looks evil, a little too rough around the edges. _You won't even realize it, _he says. _You won't even know you hit the water, it'll be over before you know it._

No…no, Finn, I can't.

_Don't make me push you, _he says warningly, leaning forward the exact same way he does when he taunts somebody. No, no. I need to ignore him, walk away from here. I can't….or maybe I should. I mean, I'm going to die anyway. Better to kill myself than have somebody else do it. _Yes. _

What do I have to live for anyway? _Nothing._

It will shut the voice up. _Of course._

And I can finally be at peace with myself. _Isn't that what you've always wanted? _

I take a step forward, a tiny rock by my feet flying off the cliff, falling so far I can't hear it hit the water, but my decision does not waver. _If you love me, you'll jump. _Finnick says again, and when I look over he's a perfect version of himself, even more beautiful than the real thing. I'm tempted to give into the lust and walk over to him, but remind myself of all the reasons I should jump. Taking a deep breath, I find that I can't breathe. Not in a drowning way, breathing is just impossible, I have no need for it. Panicking, I place my hand over my chest and feel no heartbeat.

_Because you are already dead._

I wake up with a gut-wrenching scream, yelling, "NO! NO! GOD, NO!" Gradually, my heart rate slows back to normal, and I take gratitude in the fact that my heart is still beating, and that I'm not falling to my death. Feeling sick, I run to the bathroom and promptly throw up my fancy dinner, washing my face with cold water afterwards.

I wonder why Finnick hasn't come to comfort me, the whole building must've heard my screaming. I don't really expect Katniss to come, she's probably very accustomed to screaming. I peak into Finn's room and see nothing moving, and see his night clothes lying in a heap by the bed, and the clothes he was wearing earlier that day are gone. His smell of cologne fills the room, and I close my eyes and breathe it in, wondering where he could be.

Of course.

I run down the stairs, not wasting time with elevators. I hear him before I see him, and already know what has happened. I don't think I've ever seen him cry before, ever, and now he looks like a mess. Lying on the floor, crying, cursing, and shaking. Peeta is lying on a bed, and I can tell from just one glance that he's gone. His skin is waxy, his veins dull.

I've never comforted Finnick before, I've never had to. Any emotions, he's always masked carefully, like his mother. But now, this is an entirely new person that I'm not comfortable with.

Not knowing what to say, I take him in my arms, and he doesn't resist. "Sh…" is all I can whisper, stroking the back of his head. "It'll be okay. It'll be-"

Now I see a furious Finnick, scaring me half to death. "How can it ever be okay, Matilda?" he asks, and I flinch. The sound of him using my full name has always warned me that I have to endure rant after rant. "My father is dead! My mother is crazy! Oh yeah, and I'm marching off to my death!"

I take a deep breath and say in as calm as a voice as I can manage, "There's nothing we can do about any of this, Finnick. Nothing. And sitting here yelling at me and crying isn't going to help much either."

Finnick looks at me with raging expressions in his eyes, and then gets up, looking at his father with a weird expression. "I guess I should go get Katniss…" he mutters, not able to meet my eyes.

Poor Katniss. I try to put myself in her shoes for a second, what would I do if I lost Finnick? But the pain is too strong, so I shut it down. "I'll go get her," I say gently. My heart races as I find my way upstairs, and shake her awake. She yelps and sits up, startled.

"Sorry," I say. I should've realized how frightening her dreams must be.

"What's wrong?"

What do I say? I sit down on the couch next to her and reach out, grabbing her hand. If I've had someone relatively close to a mother figure, it's Katniss. "Katniss…" I think I see the answer fly across her eyes, but she blinks and refuses to except it.

"He's not," she says. "No."

"Finnick went down to see him and he just…went," I whisper.

I don't know what I expected her reaction to be. The normal one would be to start crying, but Katniss has never been normal. But she just stares blankly straight ahead.

"Do you want to go see him?" I prompt gently.

"No." Another surprise. "What's there to see? He's dead, I'd just be crying over a corpse."

"I wish I could think like you," I murmur.

"No you don't," she says. "When you've been through as much as I've gone through, you don't want to think anymore."

"I know he's gone," I say, "But please, Katniss, don't give up." I suddenly realize the person who I thought was me in my dream was Katniss, on the bridge of life and death, and the sad thing is that I can relate to her. "You have two kids, if you don't live for yourself, live for them. They need you. Gale would die if anything happened to you."

I don't know if she heard me, because she falls into a stupor, looking somewhere I can't see. I think I should leave when she asks, "So, he's dead, is he?"

I swallow. "Yes. I'm so sorry."

She looks puzzled. "Sorry? You didn't do anything, dear. This isn't your fault."

I have nothing to say to this, so I just play with my thumbs, thinking of Peeta. His smile, his kindness, his willingness to help anybody no matter what, and I think of Finnick.

"Finnick is still down there."

"He'll come up when he wants to, I can't make him," she says airly. Why isn't she reacting to this? I wonder. Why doesn't she seem to care? As if reading my thoughts, she says, "You expect me to cry." I bite my lip. "I've learned not to cry over people that are dead."

"But this was-"

"The love of my life. He was my everything, Matilda, the only reason I could think of to get up in the morning. But, the thing is, I have come to terms with one of us dying at the hands of the Capitol since I was sixteen. For a long time, I did anything to stop that. But after I had Primrose, that didn't seem to matter as much. I knew for a long time he could die. A long time."

I have nothing to say to this, so I get up and stand by the door, debating whether to go back to the infirmary again. I decide against it, I'm no help to Finnick down there, but I have too much energy to go back to sleep, so I fill up the bathtub in my bathroom and dim the lights, lifting up the candles that are laid neatly by the tub. As if on cue, the door opens and a wide-eyed Finnick walks into the apartment, his eyes bloodshot. He surprises me by opening the liquor cabinet and drinking right from the bottle. There isn't really a set age on drinking in 12, too many people are too poor to even think about liquor, but I've never seen Finn even look at whine.

When he finally pulls the bottle from his mouth, he sways a little. I notice that Katniss watches this all with a sad expression. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he staggers towards me. When I get on my tip-toes to kiss him, he tastes like the whine. Feeling frustrated, I grab the bottle and chug from it myself, letting the fire burn my throat until I get a warm tingly sensation in my blood.

When we finish passing the bottle around, everything's a little blurry. "Come here," I say, and kiss him. I can't tell if we reek or taste of the drink, but the kiss is sweet.

"I'm going to bed," he whispers, and begins to head for his bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Katniss get up and leave.

"No. Don't go," I say, and grab him by the shirt collar and kiss him. "The water is still warm," I whisper.

His eyebrows furrow, I can tell his tired brain is somewhere else, a million miles away. "What water?"

"Come on."

I wake up a few hours later from a blissful, dreamless sleep. When I open my eyes, I see Finnick wrapping a belt around his jeans, no shirt on. He seems to sense my watching eyes. "Oh, hey," he says, and I can tell that despite my best efforts, there is no way I can pull him out of his depression. I have to let it run its course. I can't say I feel for him, I never really knew my mother, and if Gale died it'd be like watching somebody else die, not somebody I love. I almost envy Finnick, he loved his father.

Katniss is sitting at the kitchen table, Avery sitting next to her, eyes mournful, patting her hand. Kantiss's hair isn't braided, she's not dressed, and she has bags under her eyes. When Avery sees us, she says, "It starts earlier on the second day, go right down." I grab a piece of bacon before taking off.


	11. Chapter 11

_Finnick._

They always feed you that crap that you don't know what you have until it's gone. That all humans are ungrateful creatures who take every good thing they have in their life for granted. That when something bad happens to us, we're running around in disarray like a fish out of water, floundering and floundering, slowly dying and nowhere left to go.

Truth is all that crap they feed you,_ is_ true. But it's also true that they tell you can never miss something you never had.

That part is a lie.

I never had a father. I grew up with people who called themselves my parents but never played the part. They never yelled at me for being home after dark, never asked me where I was going, never sat down and asked me "How are you Finnick?" and waited for an honest answer. I never had parents that showed me right from wrong, that gave me the awkward birds-and-the-bees talk, that tucked me in at night and read me a bedtime story. I never had a father that taught his son how to throw a ball or swim. I never had a father that ruffled my hair and looked out for my big sister, his daughter. Sure, Peeta smiled when I got home from wherever the hell I had been and taught me how to make bread, but that was as far as our relationship ever went. Smiles and bread.

So how is it that you can miss something you never had so terribly? That was never yours to call your own?

I feel a hand lace through my own when we enter the training arena. "Stay strong Fin," Matilda whispers under her breath, so quietly it might've been the wind talking to me.

All eyes watch me as we enter the training hall, hand in hand. All conversation and taunting stops, all weapons stop swinging around, and somebody drops their spear. Even the Gamemakers are watching me, glasses full of weird liquids forgotten. Everybody just watches us, judging my every move, waiting for what, I do not know. Maybe they expect me to fall to the ground and sob, seeking attention and a shoulder to cry on. Or maybe their-

"Take a picture it'll last longer," a voice says. I look at Tilda, but she looks just as confused as I do.

Then I see the flash of red-brown hair and know. This seems to snap people back to reality, and my fifteen seconds of fame are finally over, because the tributes start moving around the training room again, taunting each other and picking up their swords and spears and bows again. Tilda disappears from my arm. And then I see the red again.

"Hey," I say, picking up the rope next to her. She doesn't look at me, doesn't make any sign she knows I'm there. "Thanks."

She doesn't say anything for a long time, and then finally looks at me, dropping the rope. "My dad died too," she says. "I never met him. So I guess we're a part of the same club now." She turns back to the rope.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

"Sorry for what? You didn't do anything," she says simply.

"Do you know how-"

"No," Ginnie says shortly. "And I don't really want to know. It happened, it's in the past, I can't go back and change it. So there's no point in wondering and wanting to know every detail. He's dead. That's all that matters."

I have the sudden urge to flick a piece of hair that fell in front of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear, but shove the thought aside. She's just another tribute. Yet, I find myself watching her for the rest of the day, and once in a while I catch her cold brown eyes flicking towards me and then away. She keeps to herself, never even talking to the tribute from her district, a tall boy with glasses.

"You're staring again," Tilda says for the third time in less than an hour. I curse and turn back to the knot I've been playing with. She smiles and shakes her head, finishing her fifth knot perfectly.

"I'm sorry," I say lamely, there's no denying that I wasn't watching her shimmy up a fake tree trunk.

She laughs once, but I can see the hurt in her eyes. "We aren't officially a couple, Fin," she says tightly, not looking at me. I can feel some words she's not letting me hear. "I'm not going to forbid you from watching pretty girls." I try to focus and finish the knot, but I end up throwing it on the ground angrily. "Didn't she ask you to teach her how to shoot a bow yesterday?" Tilda asks, picking up the worn down piece of rope. "Go, get it out of your system." She gives me a light shove on the back before walking to the next station, and I'm left standing there, confused out of my mind.

"Didn't you ask me to teach you how to shoot a bow?" I ask, coming up behind the red. Without saying a word, she grabs the bow and an arrow and I show her how to set it up and aim, aim at the target not at the person. Not yet anyway. She smiles. She shoots it and it hits the target on the first try, right in the bull's-eye, and she looks at me triumphantly, the light in her eyes surprising.

"I can see why this is addicting," she says half an hour later. "It's like you can release a different problem with every arrow."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I say airy, looking over my shoulder. Tilda is doing something a little more physical, learning how to throw a knife. And she's pretty good, even though I can tell she's holding back. I've seen her throw knives in the forest, when we get bored. She just flicks them lazily at the trees, and they always stay wedged in. A good stress reliever, she says. If she senses my watching eyes, she doesn't show any sign, she just listens to something the instructor says and flicks it again, landing it dead center of the target. I see her eyes quickly scan the room to see if anyone saw her, and then relax when she thinks no one has.

"Finnick?" Ginnie asks, snapping me out of my daze. "Did you hear me?"

I turn my gaze back to the red-headed girl, her eyebrows furrowed togethor. My mind doesn't seem to want to focus, or maybe it's the testosterone. "No, sorry," I apologize.

"You lost focus there for a second, huh?" she teases, smirking. "I said; show me how to do it. I want to see the famous Finnick Mellark shoot an arrow."

"You know I'm not supposed to," I mutter, noticing the Gamemaker's watching eyes.

"So be it. But I want to see the amazing archer-god come out in you, if you're so good you can't do it in here." She winks and smiles.

"You're really beautiful when you smile," I blurt out, and then shove my hands in my pockets, my face getting hot again. Ginnie's smile fades and she looks down, biting her lip. "Sorry," I murmur.

She just looks at me, not saying anything back.

"Sometimes it's nice to forget, isn't it?" a voice says from behind me. The cool night hair calms me down, the clear air making my head no feel so heavy. Tilda, dressed in a white nightgown, her hair up in this ridiculous, messy bun, no touch of makeup on her face, no shoes, she looks beautiful. Her green eyes glow in the darkness, or in the artificial darkness of the Capitol. The buildings still radiate with life, people are still partying and singing and dancing in the restaurants and clubs, cars still zooming around the streets.

"Kind of hard to forget out here, isn't it? It's like it's slapping you right in the face, where we are and why we're here," I say dryly, chuckling once.

Tilda comes up next to me, moving silently, and places a hand on my arm. She smells clean, like lilacs and shampoo. "What do you think would happen, Finnick, if we didn't listen to them?" she whispers, looking at me.

"Why would we not listen to them? They're our higher-up, our rulers of the society. If they told their people to stop breathing, they would, in a heartbeat. They dictate our every move, our every breath, our every motion. Make one small move and if you're lucky, you end up dead."

"What's worse than death?" she breathes, seeming so innocent in the lights of the city.

"Being like my mother."

Tilda doesn't say anything for a long time just looks out at the city and bites her nails, a nervous habit of hers she's never really tried to break. I don't interrupt her thoughts; I let her slip into her own world that I'm not permitted to enter. A dark and angry world, much like mine, but she puts those bars up firmly. I'm not welcomed there.

"Why do we listen to them? Why do we show up at the reaping? Why do we go up there when we're called? Why do we let them pluck us and bathe us and make us look pretty and then slice our heads off? Why do they make our families watch? Why do they torture us after we leave? I think I'd rather die in there, Finnick, than come out alive. I don't want to have to live in a world messed up as this. I don't want for people to think I'm being glorified like some god only for my every action to be at gun point. I don't want that, and I don't want that for my children. Don't you see? This never ends! What's the point in trying? Either way, we come out of there in a box or dead." She says all this in one quick breath, like she's been holding it in for so long and suddenly it all rushes out.

I pull her close to me and smell her shampoo, taking her all in. "We do it not because we fear for ourselves, but because we fear for those we love."

"Hazelle," she whispers, clutching on to my shirt, and quietly sobs into it, the city noises drowning out her sorrow.


End file.
